Relax Upon Your Rules
by hull1984
Summary: Ron's being watched and turns out Harry's not the only one to notice.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Written in 2006 for the Song Challenge on the Fire&Ice community on livejournal. Tidied up and edited (I seemed to have been inordinately fond back then of exclamation marks and ellipses, most of which you'll be relieved to hear have now been purged from the page). Title and inspiration from the song of the same name by Darren Hayes.

(This was also the story that made me suspect that I failed spectacularly at writing _short_ stories)

* * *

Relax Upon Your Rules

_Prologue. In which Harry makes a very interesting discovery..._

There it was again. That look.

Interesting.

So, maybe not overly unusual in itself; glares were often sent in that direction from that same source. But this time it was different. This time it wasn't a glare. This time it was something else entirely.

See, right there. There they were, those eyes again. Searching. Always in the same direction, always the same destination.

Now, if Harry could just decipher the meaning behind them.

His first thought had been that maybe he was trying to decide where to hide the body.

Over the course of time, this had gradually morphed into bloody hell, he's trying to decide the best way to _acquire_ the body.

Only to come to the final shocking conclusion of oh good God,he wants to _keep _the body.

Shit. Not good, very, very not good.

And Jesus H Voldemort exactly how was Harry going to break this news to the "body"?

Oh yeah, seventh year was definitely off to a bumpy start.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 1. In which Harry feels very hard done by..._

"He's staring again, Harry." Ron all but wailed his unhappiness at Harry. "I swear if he keeps this up I am so going to deck him."

Harry looked in the direction of Ron's fierce glare. Oh yeah, he was staring alright. Harry struggled to suppress the giggle of hysteria that was bubbling to the surface.

"Just ignore him, Ron."

He tried to sound bored, hoping Ron would take the hint and drop the subject, while secretly hoping that he wouldn't. It probably made him a very bad friend but Harry was actually getting a real kick out of his new role as a voyeur. After all, when you thought about it, well, it was fucking hilarious. And well, whatever gods exist forgive him, but Harry couldn't wait for what he had come to think of as The Reveal. He suddenly snorted with laughter. Merlin help them, there was going to be exploding heads everywhere.

"Would you care to share the joke with all of us, Mr Potter?"

That soon sobered Harry. Snape. Greasy git. For one mad moment Harry thought that yes, perhaps he would share the joke with him. It would serve the bloody smug bastard right if his brain ended up splattered all over the walls. Luckily, Harry's self-preservation gene kicked in just in time, and kindly sat on his evil side until it lost consciousness.

"Sorry, sir," Harry mumbled into his chest, head bowed in mock humility.

That seemed to satisfy the big-nosed bastard. Or perhaps it was the disturbingly purple hue of Neville's potion that garnered his attention at this point; either way the git soon lost interest and hurried in Neville's direction.

Once Snape was at a safe distance, Ron nudged him and asked, "So what was so funny, Harry?"

To his friend's evident surprise Harry sniggered again, then replied, "Trust me Ron, you do _not_ want to know."

Scowling at this response, Ron continued to add ingredients to their bubbling potion. But he looked far from happy.

* * *

Two days later Harry was waiting in the hallway. He'd decided that it was time for an intervention. And boy was he going to enjoy it. Grinning, he stepped out in front of his quarry.

"We need to talk, Malfoy."

The blond Slytherin stopped and looked up in surprise. Then, seeing who it was that had dared to impede his progress, he smirked, exchanging a quick glance with Crabbe and Goyle.

"I don't think so, Potter." He spat the name out like it tasted unpleasant in his mouth.

"Yes, we do." Harry rocked back on his heels and smiled smugly, he was finding this highly entertaining.

Malfoy swaggered towards him, stopping within arm's length, arrogance exuding from every pore.

"Oh, and what could Scarhead possibly have to discuss with me?" Malfoy smirked in Harry's face.

Harry looked up, as if he was thinking, then leant forward to whisper conspiratorially, "Ron."

He knew he'd scored a direct hit as soon as he saw Malfoy flinch and back away. His recovery was good though, Harry had to give him that.

"The Weasel?" He sneered. "Let me guess, you're organising a collection to buy him some decent clothes." He cocked his head back towards his cronies and right on cue they sniggered. "Put me down for a galleon - two, if you can persuade him to tone down that awful hair too."

"Oh, I think you like Ron's hair just the way it is." It was Harry's turn to smirk. In fact, he had to bite the inside of his mouth to stop from outright giggling. Hysteria truly was a terrible thing.

Malfoy, skin wearing an uncharacteristic flush, scowled then and turned to face his friends. "Potter's obviously having one of his infamous fits," he said sneeringly. "This could take some time." He nodded in the direction of the Great Hall. "You two go on to dinner without me."

With one last grunt in Harry's direction, the two Neanderthals in question lumbered off, dragging their knuckles behind them. As soon as they were out of earshot Malfoy turned back to face Harry with a glare.

"What's this all about, Potter?" Malfoy's mouth was curled in contempt but Harry wasn't fooled. His eyes told a different story. There was real fear there, a vulnerability that Harry had never seen before.

Harry decided to get to the point, not out of any consideration for the poor deranged Slytherin in front of him; vulnerable or not he was still Draco Malfoy. No, Harry's eagerness came purely from his desire to get to the good part, the one where the evil bastard had a complete melt down right in front of him.

"I told you, it's about Ron," he said smiling. "Or, more precisely, about how you feel about Ron."

Malfoy snorted. "Well, that's not exactly a secret. Everyone knows how I feel about that Muggle-loving, ginger prick."

Clearly, Malfoy wasn't going to give up easily.

"Funny," Harry responded with a shrug of his shoulders. "I would have thought that just about everyone, Ron especially, would have a pink fit if they really knew how you felt about that Muggle-loving, ginger prick."

There was a definite blush this time and Harry felt a surge of satisfaction. Damn he was good at this.

"I haven't got time for this drivel," Malfoy spluttered and started to walk away.

"Fine." Harry smirked at his retreating back. "I just thought I'd give you the opportunity to explain yourself, you know, before I shared my insights with Ron. But if you're too busy-" He turned to go up the stairs.

"Wait!"

Harry grinned, he'd only moved up one step. God, payback was sweet. He turned back slowly.

Malfoy no longer looked flushed, in fact, he looked even paler than usual (a feat Harry would have previously thought impossible).

"Look Potter, I - I don't know what you think you know but whatever it is you're wrong."

A stutter. Draco Malfoy was actually stuttering. Harry's life could not get any better at this point. Or could it?

"If you don't know what it is I know, then how can you know it's not true?" Harry waggled his eyebrows for affect.

This was brilliant. Utterly brilliant. The poor bastard looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

Smiling with false sweetness, Harry looked at his watch. "In approximately two minutes," he said. "Ron is going to come running down these stairs to meet me for dinner."

The other boy blanched and swallowed.

"So," Harry went on. "Unless you want him included in the rest of this conversation I suggest we conclude it as swiftly as possible."

"Okay, Potter," Malfoy snarled. "What do you want?"

"I told you," Harry grinned. "I want to know what your intentions are towards my best friend."

Malfoy glared, reddening in the process.

"But," Harry continued before he could answer. "We haven't got time for that now. So, I want you to meet me in McGonagall's classroom tonight at 8pm."

"Fuck off, Potter-"

Before Malfoy could say anything more, the sound of hurried footsteps stopped him, and a moment later, Ron came running down the stairs two at a time. Unfortunately, Ron was so engrossed in looking at his feet, that he didn't notice Harry until he had collided into him on the bottom step and sent him sprawling.

"Geeze, sorry mate," Ron said. "I didn't see you there."

"No shit, Ron." Harry grinned as his friend helped him up.

"What are you doing out here anyway? I thought we were going to meet inside?" Ron asked smiling. Then, noticing Malfoy for the first time, the smile faded and he turned towards the Slytherin frowning. "What's _he_ doing here?"

"Oh I'm sorry, Weasel," Malfoy mocked. "I wasn't aware I needed your permission to wander the halls."

"Yeah well," Ron muttered, as he turned back to Harry. "If I had my way you'd have to ask my permission to breathe - not that I'd give it."

Harry couldn't fail to notice the look of hurt that passed swiftly across Malfoy's face at Ron's harsh words. It wasn't so hard to read Malfoy once you knew what to look for. Of course, the Slytherin was quick to school his features back into their usual scowl by the time Ron had turned to face him again.

"Yes, well," he said with the habitual curl of his lip. "It's a good job then, that you are of so little consequence that your permission will never be required for anything. Later Potter."

And with one last contemptuous look at Ron, he turned and swept into the Great Hall.

To his surprise, Harry found himself actually battling the urge to admire the arrogant bastard. He wasn't sure he could have carried that off half as convincingly as the other boy.

Ron scowled after Malfoy, and then looked at Harry with narrowed eyes. "What did that prat want?" he asked.

"Oh, you know, just the usual insults." Harry replied, trying to sound nonchalant. Then, deciding a quick change of subject was needed, he started talking about Quidditch, a subject guaranteed to take Ron's mind off most things.

* * *

At 7.50pm that evening Harry told Ron that he was going to the library to work on his Potions homework. He could tell that the other boy was sceptical. After all, when had Harry ever used the words "work", "Potions" and "homework" in the same sentence? Ron knew only too well that scribbling it desperately the morning it was due was much more Harry's style. But it was the best excuse Harry could come up with and he figured Ron wouldn't be particularly interested anyway.

When he reached McGonagall's classroom Harry wasn't surprised to find it empty. He always knew it was a long shot that Malfoy would turn up. He was such an arrogant little prick that he probably assumed he could weasel his way out of anything. Harry burst out laughing at that thought. _Weasel_ his way out - oh yeah, he was sure Draco wouldn't object to a little _weaseling_.

"Laughing to yourself, Potty? Not a good sign even in a nutter like you."

The bastard, it seemed, had turned up after all.

"Nice to see you too, Malfoy." Harry smiled pleasantly.

Malfoy merely sneered in response and walked to a seat at the front of the classroom. Sitting down, he spread his legs out before him, ankles crossed, one arm slung lazily over the back of the chair. Then planting a superior smirk on his face he looked over at the other boy.

"So, Potter, tell me what delusions has your poor excuse for a brain thought up this week?"

Ah, so that was how he was going to play it. Harry leant back against McGonagall's desk. Crossing his arms over his chest he smiled at the blond boy.

"Delusions Malfoy? Not me," he said, shaking his head. "I think that would be you and your delusion that Ron would ever feel the same way about you."

Malfoy blushed and sat up straight. "Listen Potter, you'd better stop this Weasley nonsense or you're going to regret it."

"Oh, what are you going to do? Set some of daddy's friends on me?"

"I don't need anyone's help in dealing with you. I'd take great pleasure in doing it myself," Malfoy snarled.

Harry laughed, "Ooh, I'm shaking in my shoes, Ferret."

"Don't - don't call me that!" The other boy's voice faltered.

"Oh, that's right," Harry smirked, eyes glinting maliciously. "That's Ron's pet name for you, isn't it? I suppose you don't want to tarnish it by association with me, do you?"

Oh, Harry was really enjoying this. The smarmy bastard actually looked like he wanted to cry. Harry would have to remember to thank Ron later. He walked over to stand in front of the distressed Slytherin. "Don't threaten me again, Malfoy," he said. "I might not continue to be so reasonable."

Malfoy jumped to his feet at that. "Reasonable, Potter!" he spat out. "You call it reasonable to drag me here on the pretence of knowing something about me and the Weasel-"

"Oh, there's no 'you and the Weasel'," Harry cut in abruptly. "Much as you'd like there to be, Malfoy."

"Fuck off, you deformed prick!" Malfoy shouted. "I think you've confused me with yourself. After all, the way you and that ginger prat prance around after each other it's bloody obvious."

Harry grinned sadistically. "Jealous Malfoy?" he taunted. "Fancy a bit of prancing with Ron yourself?"

"You - you - mutant!" The other boy's face was distorted with rage now. "You don't know what you're talking about and I don't know why I even came here. I'm leaving." And he made to walk from behind the desk.

That's when Harry knew he had him. Stepping up close, voice quiet and calm, Harry looked him straight in the eye. "Sit down, Malfoy," he said. "You're not going anywhere. We both know if it wasn't true you wouldn't be here."

For a moment, Malfoy looked like he was thinking about hitting Harry, then all the fight seemed to leave him. Bowing his head, he sat down slowly.

Harry smiled cruelly. "That's right." he said. "Sit down like a good boy and shut the fuck up, before I decide that it would be oh so much more entertaining to just share this with my fellow students, starting with Ron."

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, Draco could recognise when he'd been outmanoeuvred. He may have been a pompous little shit, but years of living with Lucius had taught him to know when he was beaten. Another lesson he had quickly and painfully learned, was to always face such defeat with the same haughty pride as one would a victory. But not this time.

It wasn't the humiliation or ridicule from those around him that Draco feared. He had no delusions about the probable reaction of his peers; he could almost hear the laughter and sneers already. And the Slytherins would be the worst. Seen as betrayer there would be scorn and contempt, probably violence. But all that Draco could withstand.

No, there was only one thing he feared; one thing Draco would not survive. _His_ sneers and laughter, _his_ scorn and contempt. Weasley's was the only reaction that mattered. And Draco feared it above all else. It was stupid he knew; after all, the Weasel felt all of those things for him now and certainly never tried to hide them. But somehow if Weasley found out about this, it would be too much. Draco didn't care that he would be seen as weak; didn't care that Weasley would have him at an advantage. No, it just didn't matter. Not if Draco lost...hope.

He sat with his head in his hands now, all pride leeched out of him and voice barely a whisper. "Okay, Potter, what do you want?"

* * *

Harry's grin faded and his shoulders slumped. Ah, shit. This wasn't supposed to happen. He looked down at Malfoy's bowed head and suddenly felt like the biggest shit ever. Damn stupid Gryffindor compassion, spoiled all his fun.

* * *

Two hours later, Harry walked into the common room with a dazed look on his face. Ron narrowed his eyes and scowled suspiciously at him. "Harry, you look like you've been hit by a bludger. Exactly what were you working on in the library?"

Harry could practically hear the apostrophes around "working". And why was Ron glaring at him? "What's wrong with you?" he asked irritably. Harry'd had a very trying evening and frankly could do without the attitude.

Ron turned away moodily. "Nothing's wrong with _me_," he spat back. "I just think it's a bit off that you feel the need to sneak off to do Merlin knows what, and then lie to your best friend about it."

"What makes you think I lied to you? I told you, I went to the library to-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Ron interrupted. "To work on your Potions homework. Well you were clearly inspired, because you'd finished it and left by the time I turned up twenty minutes later."

"Oh, is that all." Harry tried to sound dismissive, while desperately trying to come up with a good explanation. He didn't understand why Ron was suddenly so interested in where he'd been, or why he sounded so suspicious.

"I didn't go straight there, you prat," Harry said quickly. "So I probably arrived after you'd been and gone. I was ambushed by a moving staircase and ended up getting lost. Hey, at least I didn't run into any three-headed dogs this time." He grinned lamely.

But Ron just continued to stare challengingly at him, his disbelief written clear across his face. "Fine," Ron finally snapped. "I'm going to bed, avoiding moving staircases, so I'll be exactly _where_ I say I am, _when_ I say I am and with _who_ I say I am."

This last part was practically screamed in Harry's face. He stepped back, a little afraid, then watched in shock as the redhead stomped angrily up the stairs and into their dorm, slamming the door behind him.

Well, what the fuck was wrong with him?

Harry felt very hard done by. Here he was spending the better part of his evening looking out for Ron's interests, and look at the thanks he got.

Harry studiously ignored the little voice at the back of his head that was patiently trying to point out that actually he'd spent the better part of the evening mostly looking out for his own enjoyment. It was very difficult to wallow in self-righteous indignation when your bastard conscience was jumping up and down, determined to make the point that you had in fact been acting like a total git.

Bloody stupid Gryffindor conscience. It'd be the death of him.


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 2. In which not much gets past Ron…_

Ron was seething. Harry was a bloody git. And where did he get off? Lying to his best mate and for...for...urgh.

Ron had known, of course. Oh yes, he'd seen it coming. There wasn't much that got past Ron. Whatever _some_ people said. He was a damn sight more observant than he was given credit for - "observational ability of an amoeba" - bloody cheek! And what did Hermione know about it anyway? For all she knew amoeba might actually be very observant. Had anyone done a study? And well, okay that was probably not the point. This time though, oh yes, this time he had certainly done enough observing! Too bloody much, if you asked him.

Of course, it all made sense now. "Ignore him, Ron," "You're imagining it, Ron," "Stop obsessing, Ron," Ha! Trying to throw him off the scent. But it hadn't worked. Oh no, Ron was too cunning for that. And he'd known Malfoy was up to something. Had even begun to suspect that Harry knew more than he was letting on. And Merlin, how right he'd been!

Ron squeezed his eyes shut tightly, refusing to allow any stupid tears to fall. He was curled up in bed but couldn't stop shivering; he just couldn't seem to get warm, and the low level throbbing that had started behind his eyes as he waited for Harry, was steadily reaching an unbearable pitch. Perhaps he should have listened to Hermione after all. He tried to ignore his increasing discomfort and concentrate instead on recalling the events of the past few weeks that had brought him to this point, wondering if he'd missed anything important, if there was something he could have done to stop this happening.

* * *

He had first noticed the looks about the third week into term. Ron was used to Malfoy's sneers and glares, crikey he'd been living with them for seven years. But this, this was something new. Funny, but from the moment they'd met, Ron had always known when the blond was looking - or perhaps more accurately _glaring_ - at him. He'd get this tell-tale prickle at the back of his neck; Ron's cue to turn and glare right back at the evil git.

But now, well it was downright scary. Now when he turned to glare, more often than not the freak would be, well, let's just say not exactly glaring. Erm, actually he was more likely to be er, well okay, gazing dreamily, with slightly parted lips and a glazed look in his eyes. What was that all about? Honestly, it was fucking creepy.

The first time it had happened, Ron had automatically looked behind him to see who the prat was really looking at, only to find no one. Then it had hit him, Ron knew what was going on in that sadistic brain. He was obviously daydreaming about murdering Ron and visualising how small the body bits would be. This theory was confirmed when the Slytherin, realising that Ron was looking at him, closed his mouth and twisted it into his familiar sneer. Little Snot!

But then, the prickles had increased and Malfoy's looks intensified. The dreamy look took on a hungry edge, his eyes lost their glaze and shifted into something more dangerous, something slightly unhinged. Ron's anger quickly turned to confusion, then, gradually to panic. Seriously, just _what_ was that psycho planning to do with his body?

Ron had tried to share his fears with Harry, but he just kept telling Ron that he was over-reacting and nothing had changed. It had reached the point were Ron was convinced that the bespectacled wizard was in some sort of denial about the whole thing; but he couldn't figure out why. Then he realised something. All those times that he had thought Malfoy was looking at _him_, Harry had also been there. So, what if those looks had actually been aimed at Harry? After all, every time the Slytherin git had noticed Ron was looking he'd glare or sneer at him, as if to say _"Fuck off, Weasley, I'm not looking at you_". Ha! Ron had figured it out. See, not much got past him. Harry had obviously noticed Malfoy's looks too and was embarrassed. Poor Harry! The Ferret _liked_ him. Ron hadn't been able to stop himself sniggering at that. He'd continued to watch, and what he saw only re-enforced this new theory. Merlin, he was good at this.

Gradually though, Ron's own feelings on the matter began to change. It stopped being funny and he started to get a sick feeling in his stomach every time he felt _the prickle_. He began to dread it and all its associations. Worse still, Ron soon realised that he recognised that feeling of nausea. He'd had it before - when a certain Bulgarian Seeker had come to Hogwarts. Bugger.

But why would he feel jealous? Shit no! He couldn't, he didn't. Oh bugger, he did. But how? How could he fancy...Harry? He'd known the bloke for years and had never felt anything er, untoward for him. Bloody hormones! Ron tried to be rational. Okay, so maybe he had developed _feelings_ for his best mate; Ron's stomach certainly seemed to think so. So right, fine, let's think about this. And he had tried to consider his friend in as detached a manner as possible.

Sure, Harry had grown taller in the last year or so, although he would always be shorter than Ron. Shorter was okay. He had also filled out, so that he was now quite stocky. Odd. Because well, not that he'd really ever thought about it, but _if_ (and it was a very big _if)_ Ron was going to go down that particular path he felt more of a leaning towards...well, lean. Not that it was an actual proper _leaning_ as such. Merlin, no! But Ron just thought that maybe, perhaps, possibly, he would prefer something in the way of tall and slim. Not short and stocky.

Ron shook his head. Of course, what he really liked were breasts and long legs. Yeah, breasts and legs. He was nodding emphatically to himself now. The nodding came to a slow halt. Actually if he was being completely honest, he'd never been much of a breast man either. But definitely long legs. Well, Harry certainly didn't have breasts! Didn't have long legs either. Oh.

Okay, so Harry's other attributes obviously made up for his lack of stature. Twenty minutes later, Ron was still trying to convince himself. Hair? Hardly! Now, you see, Ron didn't get that either. But well, never let Hermione find out - she could be a bit sensitive about that sort of thing - but he really did prefer blonds. And what about those awful dorky glasses? Hadn't Harry ever heard of contacts? Now Ron had always thought that glasses could be sexy. On the right face. Harry's wasn't it. He supposed Harry had nice eyes, though to be honest green was one of Ron's least favourite colours. Except with silver, then it was quite nice.

Okay, so let's recap. So far, Ron didn't like Harry's build, hair or eyes. Bugger. Maybe Ron was wrong. _Malfoy with Harry. Malfoy with Harry._ Fuck. Yep, still made him feel sick. Oh bugger it all and now he felt tearful too. Great. Fucking fantastic. He was turning into a girl. Thank you so fucking much, mate! So, if he wasn't turned on by Harry's looks did that mean...fuckity fuck! No, it couldn't be...not that! Anything but that...he _liked_ Harry for his _personality_. Ron was royally screwed. A seventeen year old for Merlin's sake, who _liked_ someone for their personality? What kind of freak did that make him? Who gave a flying fuck about personalities?

And well, truth be known fond as Ron was of Harry - he was his best friend after all - he'd actually always found that whole _ooh Voldemort hates me angsty hero complex thing_ rather trying. Not to belittle what Harry had gone through but well, the way he constantly harped on about how awful it was without his parents, it was a bit much sometimes. After all how could he _miss _them if he'd never had them in the first place? Ron would never say it to his face but well, sometimes he did have an urge to tell Harry to belt up and get over it.

He's a lot of fun too though (Ron didn't want to sound disloyal). And he's a wicked Quidditch player. Which Ron really envied. Come to think of it...that was a bit annoying too. There was Harry, never been on a broomstick in his life, never even seen Quidditch, and yet he was utterly brilliant at it the first time out. How fair was that? Ron had been practising since he was three and didn't even come close.

And talking of brooms. The lucky bastard had the best. Which Ron didn't _really_ begrudge him. It wasn't Harry's fault that his parents had left him a vault full of galleons, which meant that he could afford the best of everything. Actually, that wasn't the galling thing. No, what _was_ annoying was the fact that the broom had been a _gift_. Trust Harry to have a bleeding rich godfather as well.

In fact, the more Ron thought about it, the more he realised Harry didn't have too much to complain about. He was rich, brilliant at Quidditch, had half the girls - Ron scowled darkly - and boys, fawning over him and he'd probably have his pick of jobs when he finished school (not that Harry would ever actually have to work, thanks to all that money). So why was he such a whiny, little git? Oh, that's right for five, maybe six weeks, each summer he had to spend time with some relatives who weren't very nice to him. Shit! Harry should meet some of Ron's relatives. His Aunt Josephine alone had a moustache that could take your eye out at forty paces, not to mention the beard burn she left behind every time she tried to snog you. Silly old bat!

Of course, poor Harry had suffered a lot of nasty run-ins with the old Voldemeister. Though to be fair, so had Ron and Hermione. And well, not to harp on about it or anything, but it was Ron that had sacrificed himself in that giant chess game, and ended up in the Hospital Wing. And whose leg was broken by that salivating, bastard Sirius? Oh yes...flying brains anyone? In fact, sometimes it seemed that the only time Harry ever had to visit the infirmary was to visit Ron. Even during that awful Triwizard Tournament who had been asked to surrender their fate to Harry? Tied to a statue at the bottom of a lake!

It was probably rather unfortunate that Harry chose that particular moment to approach him.

"Hi Ron." His friend said cheerily. "What's up?"

Ron scowled up at Harry and snapped, "Oh belt up you whiny, little git!" And then walked out of the common room leaving behind a very confused and somewhat hurt Harry.

* * *

Ron had retreated to his favourite place, the Quidditch stands, to continue his thoughts. Now that he had calmed down, he was starting to feel a bit guilty for snapping at his friend. After all, it wasn't his fault that Ron had started having _feelings_ for him. Funny though, he didn't feel any different when he looked at Harry. No sudden urge to snog him or anything. Maybe he needed to be in the mood.

Oh, shit no. Not now. Ron could feel his neck prickling. And sure enough, there below him on the pitch, was Malfoy; gazing up at him. He'd decided on the _dreamy_ look this evening. Stupid, bloody Ferret. Couldn't Malfoy see that Harry wasn't with him? Some people were so _dense!_

Ron decided to ignore the daft bugger, and leaned his head back on his chair, closing his eyes. Right, where was he? Oh yeah, being in the mood for a snog. Wonder what Malfoy's doing now? He's still down there. I can feel him looking. How long does it take to figure Harry's not here? Thick bastard.

He opened one eye and looked down. Yep, he was still there. Ron sat up having decided that, the only way he'd get rid of the pathetic prat was to let him know he'd seen him. So, he held up his hand and started to wave in a vastly exaggerated manner, hoping Malfoy would recognise the sarcasm behind it and leave. To his utter shock, the blond boy hesitantly raised his own hand and started to wave back.

Ron stopped waving and gaped. The Slytherin below stilled his hand then shook his head as if coming out of a trance. Scowling up at Ron, he made use of his still raised arm to make a rather rude gesture at the Gryffindor, before turning and walking away, head down and muttering to himself.

Ron felt a surge of anger. Bastard! No need to take it out on him just because his bloody boyfriend wasn't here. A sudden wave of nausea washed over him. Shit. Well, it seemed he did _like_ Harry despite his earlier protestations. Either that, or he was coming down with something; perhaps he should go and see Madam Pomfrey. And with that he wandered back up to the castle and went to bed.

* * *

Continuing his observation of Harry and Malfoy over the following days, Ron began to notice some interesting developments. First, there was the incident in Potions.

Harry had spent most of the lesson, stealing glances at Malfoy, and then smiling mysteriously. It had really set Ron's nerves on edge. He had tried to provoke a reaction by declaring his intention to hit the Slytherin. And sure enough, as he'd expected Harry had responded with his usual comeback these days and told Ron to just ignore Malfoy. Bloody cheek! When Harry, himself, had been obsessing over the bastard all lesson. Talk about double standards. And then, there was the laughter; as if Harry was enjoying a private joke. But at whose expense?

And then today, Ron had come across Malfoy and Harry talking in the Entrance Hall. Talking! Since when did Harry talk to that git? Malfoy had looked flushed and agitated, Harry smug. But there had been no shouts or insults - at least not until Ron had turned up and the Slytherin had started on him. Bloody Ferret. Again, Harry had been evasive when Ron had questioned him, changing the subject in an obvious attempt to throw Ron off the scent. And as Malfoy had left, Ron could have sworn he'd seen something that looked suspiciously akin to admiration in a certain pair of green eyes. Yep, Ron was definitely worried.

When Harry had told Ron later that same evening, that he was going to the library to work, Ron knew something was definitely not right. _Work_, _Harry_ and _library_ were three words that did _not_ go together. Ron decided that he would have to get to the bottom of this, or die trying. The solution was obvious - he would have to follow Harry; it was for his friend's own good. Unfortunately, Ron had only got as far as the other side of the portrait hole before being accosted by Hermione. She was just returning from the library where she'd gone straight after dinner, and had immediately launched into a full-on lecture about the merits of library study over hall wandering. It had taken Ron three attempts before he was able to shut her up long enough to tell her that he had, in fact, been heading to the library when she'd stopped him.

Hermione had looked dubious, and examining his empty hands, had asked suspiciously, "Then where are your books?"

Thinking quickly - not the easiest task for Ron - he'd responded with an improvised, "I left them with Harry, while I came back here to change my socks." Then he'd run for it, before she had a chance to reply, leaving behind a very perplexed looking witch. _Socks?_

By the time Ron had made his escape, Harry was long out of sight. So, he'd decided to check out the library, on the unlikely chance that Harry might have been telling the truth. As Ron had suspected the library was quite Harry-free. After that, he had reluctantly admitted defeat, and sullenly made his way back to the Gryffindor Tower.

As he'd passed McGonagall's classroom Ron had heard voices. Harry and Malfoy's voices. He'd crept back to the door and peeked in the window. And immediately wished he hadn't. For there was his best friend with - with - Malfoy in his arms. Harry had been petting the other boy's hair and murmuring softly to him.

Ron had stayed just long enough to hear Malfoy groan, 'Oh Harry,' then he'd run. Run down the stairs and out the doors. Run and run and run. Finally stopping at the edge of the lake, he'd leant against a tree trying to catch his breath. _Harry and Malfoy. Harry and Malfoy_. It had been all he could think. Suddenly, he had bent over and vomited. Wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve Ron had moved away from the spoiled tree and sat down leaning against another.

The evening dew had soaked through his thin robes, but Ron hadn't cared. _Harry and Malfoy. Harry and Malfoy_. It had been a mantra running through his head and he hadn't been able to stop it. Much as he'd had his suspicions, seeing it was quite something else. Ron's eyes had stung with unshed tears.

_What will I do?_

Because in that moment he knew; finally knew. No one should hold Malfoy in their arms. No one should pet that blond head or murmur softly to him.

No one that is…but Ron.

He hadn't been able to stop the tears then and had sat looking out across the lake as they had run unheeded down his stricken face.

* * *

Once the tears had subsided, Ron had lain on the grass and stared up at the sky. His clothes had been soaked through and he'd started to shiver.

I am so fucked. Malfoy. Bloody hell. What's happening to me? And when did it start?

He'd tried to lose himself in counting the stars.

One, two, three.

I hate him. Have always hated him. Haven't I?

Four, five.

Merlin, Ron, it's the Ferret!

No…not any more. Somehow, somewhere it had become Draco. And now there was no going back. Shit.

Six, seven.

Fuck.

Ron's teeth had been chattering by then and it had become harder to see the stars. All at once he'd realised it was raining; had been for some time. Well, it was official. He'd lost his freaking mind. He was lying on his back, in the pouring rain, looking at the stars and thinking about Draco Malfoy.

Aaah!

Ron had jumped to his feet then and squelched his way back to the castle.

When he had walked dripping into the common room, Hermione had leapt to her feet with a startled, "Ron!"

She had then proceeded to lecture him about the stupidity of being out in the rain. This had progressed to the stupidity of sitting around in wet clothes and had ended with the stupidity of ignoring her advice. When he had continued to ignore her she had finally given up with an exasperated, "Fine! But don't you dare come complaining to me when you're stuck in the Hospital Wing with Madam Pomfrey pouring foul-tasting potions down your throat." And she had stamped up to the girls dormitory without a backward glance.

Ron had sat, steam rising from his damp clothes, staring into the fire. Seamus and Dean had wisely decided to give him a wide berth, recognising that it wasn't only his clothes that were steaming.

Harry, the bastard whiny git. Ron couldn't believe it - rich, brilliant at Quidditch, pick of the jobs _and_ Draco_._ It wasn't fair. And he hadn't even told Ron. His best mate. Didn't trust him. Ron felt sick, hurt and betrayed.

* * *

Dean and Seamus turned to see who was coming through the portrait hole. They looked over at each other, grinning with relief. Harry, thank Merlin! Maybe he'd be able to calm Ron down.

They both turned to watch the redhead's reaction to the arrival of his best mate. Watching the play of emotions that crossed Ron's face, they quickly reached a mutual decision. Without a word or glance at the other, they swept their unfinished homework into their arms and ran for it.

When Ron came storming into their dorm ten minutes later, they shared a hurried look of horror, and dove behind their respective bed curtains. Sometimes retreat really was the only option, even for brave Gryffindors.


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter 3. In which Ron's world goes black…_

Harry sat staring into the fire, thinking back over his somewhat eventful evening. It hadn't exactly gone as planned. And why was Ron so pissed off with him? Okay, so Harry _had_ lied to him, and not actually gone to the library, but it wasn't the end of the world. And what about Malfoy? Bloody hell_._ Harry couldn't believe what he'd ended up doing. Blimey - with Malfoy! It had all just gotten away from him so quickly.

When Malfoy had spoken to him in that defeated whisper, Harry had suddenly been overcome with remorse. Bastard. His evening's entertainment lay completely ruined. Selfish Slytherin git. Harry had been looking forward to that for weeks. He'd imagined a fierce battle of wits, which would almost certainly end with Malfoy telling him to fuck off, but he'd expected it to be fun, at least for a little while. What Harry hadn't expected was for the other boy to crumble like that; hadn't realised the depth of feeling there. But it wasn't Harry's fault. Who'd have thought the bastard would turn out to be human? All too soon, Harry had been forcibly reminded of his own crush on Cho. How would he have felt if someone had tormented him the way he had tormented Draco? And it must have been so much worse for the blond boy - to be taunted by your worst enemy about fancying his best friend, who currently also happens to be your _second_ worst enemy.

Harry had stood and watched the bowed head for a moment in shock. Then, feeling painfully ashamed, he'd slowly approached the desk.

"Er, look Malfoy, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have teased you. I won't tell anyone honestly. Not even Ron."

Malfoy had looked up and given Harry a slight nod of acknowledgement. Then, bowing his head again, he had let out a dry sob and started to shake.

Oh, bloody hell. Harry had started to panic. He wasn't going to…? Oh please no, not that.

Tears had begun to fall then onto the desk, slowly at first, and then, drop by rapidly increasing drop.

Harry had wanted to run. Not tears. Anything but tears. He wasn't equipped for tears. Cho Chang could attest to that. Okay, so he could admit that he'd been happy earlier when Malfoy had _looked_ like he wanted to cry, but Harry didn't want him to actually _do_ it - not in front of him! Where was Voldemort when you needed him?

Harry had moved a little closer so he could pat Malfoy on the shoulder. "Erm, steady on, mate," he'd stammered.

But if anything that seemed to make matters worse, and the poor boy had begun to sob in earnest.

Oh bugger_._

Squaring his shoulders manfully and closing his eyes, Harry had squatted down next to the distraught blond and put one arm loosely around him. To Harry's utter shock and chagrin, Malfoy had thrown himself into his arms, buried his head in Harry's chest and sobbed brokenly. All over Harry's clean shirt. Fuck_._ Wearing a look of absolute horror Harry had absently started to pat the crying boy on the head, murmuring nonsense, all the while thinking please God don't let anyone see me like this_…_

Gradually, the torrent had subsided and Malfoy had been able to speak.

"Oh, Harry," he paused to take a deep breath. "It's all just so hopeless. I can't bear it anymore."

Harry hadn't known what to say; he'd settled rather lamely for, "It's okay, Draco. It'll be okay." And to his own amazement, had found himself hugging the boy closer, and wishing the words were true.

"No, it won't." Malfoy's voice was ragged now. "You were right earlier. I _am_ being deluded. He'll never return my feelings. He hates me."

And Harry really had been unable to reply. After all, how could he deny it?

* * *

Ron had fallen into a fitful sleep, that was interrupted by the sound of the door closing. He listened intently. He could tell by the movements outside his curtains that Harry had come to bed. Ron was glad. There was something he had to say to him. He frowned, then winced. His head hurt. Really hurt. He couldn't remember what he wanted to say. And why was it so hot in here? He kicked off his blankets.

Ron wanted to say something but he couldn't remember what. He started to panic. Why couldn't he remember_?_ Then he didn't care. He just wished someone would turn down the heat. Or open a window. Ron would do it himself, but he couldn't seem to lift his head from the pillow. He had a vague idea that that should worry him more, but his head hurt too much to think.

Merlin, he was cold. He was shivering now. When did it get so cold? He wanted to pull his covers up, but he'd kicked them on the floor, and now he couldn't reach them, everything was just too heavy. Ron closed his eyes tight. Please, I just want to sleep now. But his head was throbbing and his throat felt too dry. Maybe Harry would get him a drink.

He tried to shout but no words came out. Now, he couldn't feel his fingers and he felt like he was going to vomit. Ron knew he should sit up, but he couldn't seem to make his body do what he wanted it to. Fuck. Why couldn't he lift his head from the pillow? He tried to shout again. Then, all at once his world went black.

* * *

Images were swirling past at a dizzying speed. Suddenly, they slowed and the visions drifted into focus. Draco smirking. Harry grinning. "Looks like I win again, Ron."

No_…_

Draco smiling softly at him, eyes filled with warmth…turning to derision. A harsh laugh, vicious and mocking, "Harry, quick come and see - the stupid Weasel is drowning."

Harry, grinning down maliciously at him, "Good. We'll be rid of him at last."

Drowning_?_ But he wasn't drowning…he was floating. And then all at once he was. Drowning.

Water filled his mouth as he screamed. Cold, stinging, suffocating. Water pulling at his clothes, pulling him down. Now his lungs were freezing over as he opened his mouth to scream again.

Then Harry's face, kind now. "Ron, Ron."

"Drowning Harry. I'm drowning."

An Irish voice cut in, "What's wrong with him, Harry?"

Seamus. What was Seamus doing here?

"Help Seamus, Harry. Seamus is drowning. Oh, please help him, Harry."

"Ron! Wake up, mate. You're dreaming. Come on, wake up!"

Voices. There were more voices now.

"How can he be dreaming if his eyes are open?"

Then hands…cool hands, bringing relief to his burning skin.

"Bloody hell, he's on fire. Quick Dean, go and get Madam Pomfrey."

"Ron, Ron! Can you hear me?"

Harry's face again. Looking worried now.

"Harry!" He tried to reach a hand up to his friend but his body still wouldn't cooperate. "Harry, I can't feel anything. And I think I'm drowning."

"Ron, you're sick. But Madam Pomfrey will be here soon and she'll take care of you."

He shivered. The water was so cold now. And the hands were gone. Then he felt himself slipping, sinking.

"No, Harry. You take care of me. Will Draco let you? He hates me. I hope he let's you, Harry."

"What are you talking about? Of course I'll look after you, Ron. But Madam Pomfrey will be here soon and she'll give you something to make you feel better."

"Draco…feel better with Draco…"

Whispering again; and then nothing as the dark engulfed him.

* * *

"Harry, why's he talking about Malfoy?"

"And why's he calling him _Draco_?"

"For God's sake Seamus, can't you see he's sick? He's hallucinating. Oh fuck, where's Madam Pomfrey?"

"She's right here, Mr Potter and we'll have no more of that language if you please."

Harry shared a look of relief with Seamus and a wide-eyed Neville as the medi-witch walked swiftly past them and over to Ron's bed. A moment later, Dean slipped in the door and joined them. Madam Pomfrey shooed the boys away impatiently. The four boys retreated to the door and watched as the witch bent to examine their friend. All four suddenly jumped out of the way as the door was pushed open and an anxious Hermione came rushing in.

"Oh." The bushy-haired girl lifted a hand to her mouth as she saw who the medi-witch was examining. She walked to Harry; grasping the arm of his pyjamas she turned concerned eyes up to him. "I couldn't sleep and then I heard a commotion. What's happening?"

But before Harry could reply, Madam Pomfrey turned towards him. "Mr Potter kindly go to the Headmaster's study and ask him to come here immediately."

A spike of fear jabbed at Harry's heart, but before he could move he was startled by a soft voice in the doorway.

"It's okay, Poppy, I'm here." And Dumbledore walked into the room and over to Ron's bed.

It never ceased to amaze Harry how the aged wizard always seemed to know when he was needed. And despite his growing concern for his friend, he immediately felt comforted by the headmaster's presence. Dumbledore would make it right.

Harry watched anxiously as the old wizard looked down at Ron. The redhead was mumbling incoherently to himself now, his whole frame shaking violently. The headmaster straightened and turned to Madam Pomfrey.

"I fear Mr Weasley is very ill. He needs to be moved immediately." A softly whispered incantation and the medi-witch and Ron disappeared without a sound.

Harry blinked, looking from the now empty bed to Dumbledore. The headmaster smiled at him, then turned to address the others in the room.

"I know you are all concerned for your friend, but be assured he is in the best possible care." His kindly eyes sought out Harry and Hermione. "If you two would care to accompany me to the Infirmary we can check on Mr Weasley's condition, and then you can return here and share the news with the rest of your friends."

And with a final nod, he walked quietly from the room, a very sombre looking Harry and Hermione following close behind.

Standing in the now silent room, Neville, Seamus and Dean exchanged worried looks. They knew only too well what Dumbledore's presence meant, and were deeply concerned for their stricken friend.

* * *

When they arrived at the Hospital Wing, Ron was lying in one of the pristine, white beds. He was moving restlessly, and letting out low murmurs. Harry moved closer and saw how deathly pale the other boy looked; sweat beaded Ron's face and plastered his fringe to his forehead. Madam Pomfrey was bustling quietly around his bed.

As Dumbledore walked to Ron's bedside, the medi-witch looked up with a solemn expression, and slowly shook her head. The headmaster gave an almost imperceptible nod in the direction of Harry and Hermione, and she gave a small start of surprise before turning to address them.

"So, Mr Potter, Miss Granger, can either of you offer an explanation as to how Mr Weasley came to be this ill?"

Harry and Hermione had exchanged looks of alarm when Madam Pomfrey had shaken her head at Dumbledore. What did it mean for their friend?

At her sudden question, Harry's fear was momentarily replaced by bewilderment. He couldn't think of any reason why Ron should be sick at all. Nothing had happened lately that would explain this sudden illness. His friend had made no mention of feeling unwell, and apart from Ron's recent outburst, his behaviour had been as it always was. Actually, even the outburst was pretty characteristic for Ron; the other boy wasn't exactly known for his emotional restraint. Harry felt a sudden stab of guilt. Maybe Ron's grumpiness was because he felt ill, and all Harry had been worried about were his own feelings.

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud gasp from Hermione, and he turned questioning eyes towards her. She was biting her bottom lip and had tears in her eyes. Harry reached out his hand to take hers, giving it a quick, comforting squeeze. Hermione held onto him gratefully, then, turned to face Madam Pomfrey.

"Oh, I knew he'd get sick. I tried to tell him, Madam Pomfrey. I really did!"

The medi-witch strode towards her frowning, "When girl? Tell me what happened!" She spoke very curtly and Hermione flinched.

"It - it was earlier this evening. Ron came into the common room about 9.30pm." She paused and glanced nervously at the headmaster to see if the boy would be in trouble for breaking curfew; but the old wizard just smiled and nodded for her to continue. "He was soaked through - I think he'd been walking in the rain. I told him he should change into dry clothes, honestly I did. But he seemed upset about something and just ignored me." She turned tear-filled eyes to Harry. "So - so I went off in a sulk telling him not to complain to me when he was in the Hospital Wing."

But before Harry could offer any words of comfort, he was startled by Madam Pomfrey's angry voice.

"Miss Granger! I am disappointed in you!" The medi-witch was clearly furious, wagging her finger at Hermione and seemingly only seconds away from stamping her foot. "Why did you not insist? Or call Professor McGonagall? _If_ we had caught this earlier - _if_ Mr Weasley had not sat around in wet clothes - I could have - I might have been able - but now-"

She came to a slow stop. Harry had never seen the usually composed witch so distraught. It made him feel more afraid than he had ever been before. And _if_ suddenly seemed a very ominous word.

It was all too much for poor Hermione. At the older witch's harsh words, she crumbled and burst into tears. Madam Pomfrey was at her side in a moment, wrapping the distressed girl in her arms. "Oh, Miss Granger. I am so sorry. I didn't mean to shout dear - it's just - well I'm very fond of Mr Weasley and I would hate - to have to lose_" But she was unable to finish her words.

Throughout this exchange Harry had stood in horrified silence. Now he turned fearful eyes towards Dumbledore, willing the old man to give him one of his reassuring smiles. Desperately, he looked for the wink, the twinkle in the eye that would tell him all was well; that Ron was safe and everything would be okay. But for once it seemed he looked in vain. The headmaster shook his head sadly and turned away to look at the sick, young man in the bed. Placing his hand gently on Ron's forehead he spoke quietly to him.

"Please get well, Mr Weasley. There are a lot of people that need you."

He turned back to Harry. "One of those people, Harry, is waiting outside. When you have finished here please go to him."

Then he walked over to where Madam Pomfrey was still trying to comfort a sobbing Hermione. "Ron is in good hands, Hermione." Turning to the medi-witch, Dumbledore placed a hand gently on her shoulder. "He could have no better carer." He smiled fondly at his old friend, who blushed at his words. "Poppy when you are able I would appreciate an update please. Now, I will wish you all a good night, as I must go and inform Mr and Mrs Weasley about their son's illness." He turned to smile at Harry, "I believe the twins are already with Ginny. Fred and George apparently sensed something was wrong and floo'ed straight over." He sighed and glanced back at Ron, "A very close family the Weasleys." And with a nod of his head he was gone.

Harry stood for a few moments staring at the door. He was thinking about the headmaster's earlier words. He had a fairly good idea who it was that was outside, he just didn't understand how Dumbledore could know. But then Harry was often dumbfounded by what that old wizard knew. He really wasn't looking forward to having to face Draco. He knew the other boy was going to be devastated about Ron's illness, and he was pretty sure that right now he really wasn't the one to provide reassurance. But, before that, he needed to know exactly what was wrong with his friend and _when_ - Harry determinedly did not think _if_ - he would get better.

He looked over to Madam Pomfrey. The old witch had given Hermione one last hug and was moving back to Ron's bedside. Harry walked to the other side of the bed and looked down at his friend. The redhead was sleeping peacefully now; the medi-witch's ministrations seemingly having quieted his restless movements. He lay still, his shallow breaths barely perceptible.

For a moment panic gripped Harry's heart and he reached out to touch a freckled hand; afraid he'd find it cold. But the skin was hot, the fever clearly still laying siege to the boy's body. Harry felt the last of his strength leave him as a wave of relief hit his stomach and mixed with the fear already there. His legs wobbled and he reached blindly for the arm of the chair behind him, lowering himself into it. Adrenalin coursed through his body, leaving Harry shaking and struggling to breathe.

Hermione moved to his side and reached for his trembling hand. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at her and gave her a shaky smile. Nodding his head in Ron's direction Harry said, "The things he does just to get out of Potion."

Hermione's answering laugh sounded more like a sob, but at least this time she was able to maintain her composure.

"Right, you two." Madam Pomfrey was once again the capable carer they were used to seeing. "Five more minutes, and then you need to return to your dormitories and get some rest. And I'm sure your friends will be anxious for news." She then turned to go to her office.

Harry stood up, "Madam Pomfrey, what exactly is wrong with Ron?" The medi-witch turned back to look at him in surprise. "Erm, you haven't actually said," he continued, in answer to her questioning look.

"Oh." She looked momentarily nonplussed, then shook her head. "I'm afraid this case has me a little unsettled."

Harry smiled at her, warmed by the fact that it was her obvious concern for his friend that had her so distracted.

She walked back over to the bed and looked down at Ron's still form. Shaking her head sadly she explained, "I am sorry to say that Mr Weasley has Muggle Influenza." And she brushed her hand gently across the boy's forehead.

For a moment Harry was too stunned to speak, then he let out a bark of relieved laughter. "The 'flu! You're kidding! He has the 'flu!" He turned to Hermione smiling, "Did you hear that 'Mione? Ron only has the bloody 'flu!"

But he knew. Even before he saw the panic in the younger witch's eyes. Somehow Harry just knew. Ron was in real trouble. Harry's smile faded and he turned desperate eyes to the grey haired witch.

"But - but it's only the 'flu. He just needs rest and - and fluids and-" his voice trailed off.

Madam Pomfrey walked around the bed and placed an arm around each of their shoulders. "Come with me," she said kindly. "Mr Weasley needs his rest. We can talk in my office." And she led them both out of the ward.

* * *

_Nearly always proven fatal._

Harry walked slowly from the room.

When they'd entered Madam Pomfrey's office, she had made them sit down, and had placed a large mug of hot chocolate in front of each of them. She had steadfastly refused to make any further comments until they had each drunk half. She had then sat down behind her desk, and began to explain exactly what Ron's illness meant in the Wizarding world.

Most of it had come as no surprise to Hermione. She explained to Harry later, that she had read about an epidemic of Muggle Influenza that had wiped out half the population of Hogwarts back in 1815 in 'Hogwarts: A History.' She had smiled sadly at that, doubtless imagining the roll of the eyes she would have received from Ron at the mention of 'that bloody book!'

For Harry though, it all felt like some sort of cruel joke. How could wizards die from something so innocuous; something that most Muggles recovered from in a matter of days? He'd grown angry then, standing and demanding to know why - why would Hogwarts allow Muggles to attend there, if they brought deadly illnesses with them?

Madam Pomfrey had been kind but firm when she had told him to resume his seat and keep his voice down, lest he disturb Ron. Once Harry had sat back down, looking shame-faced, she had gone on to explain about the introduction of inoculations to protect wizards against Muggle infections. All wizard children received vaccinations in potion form during their infancy, with regular booster drafts throughout their lives. Before either Harry or Hermione could ask, she had confirmed that Ron had received all his immunizations and that all his boosters were up to date. In short, Madam Pomfrey was at a complete loss as to how Ron had contracted the infection. They could worry about that later; the important thing now was to make sure he survived it. She had fixed them both with a determined look then and declared, "I will not rest until Mr Weasley is out of danger and well on the road to recovery." They had both smiled gratefully at her.

The medi-witch had insisted they finish their chocolate before leaving, and had then walked them to the door. Before they left, she had taken each of them by the hand and spoken softly, "I will do my best, but it would be irresponsible of me not to prepare you for all the possibilities. I am very sorry to say, that for wizards, the Muggle 'flu has nearly always proven fatal." She had released their hands then, and abruptly turned and walked back into her office, leaving them to contemplate those last chilling words.


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5. In which Draco decides to go for it...  
_

Breakfast at the Gryffindor table was very subdued. Harry lifted his head and looked around the hall. Actually, it was pretty subdued everywhere. For a moment, his eyes rested on the Slytherin table. Draco wasn't there. Harry wondered if he was still in the Infirmary with Ron - _Ron - _he squeezed his eyes shut.

"He's probably camping outside the Infirmary. Poor sod!"

Harry looked up quickly. Seamus was sitting across from him. He was talking to Dean and nodding towards Draco's empty seat.

"Wait." Dean suddenly looked worried.

Everyone was looking now.

"Do kisses while one of them is unconscious count?"

Harry looked down the length of the table; everyone seemed uncommonly interested in this conversation. He began to suspect that perhaps he wasn't the remarkably observant person he thought he was.

"No, definitely not." Seamus was shaking his head adamantly. "They both have to be fully conscious and acting of their own free will or it doesn't count." Noticing Harry's wide-eyed stare, he suddenly turned towards the other wizard and asked, "So, Harry, when are you going to join the sweepstake? If you have some insider information that you might be willing to share, I may be able to offer you a discount."

Harry leant down and started to bang his head on the table. Seamus nodded approvingly.

* * *

The next five days were a difficult, anxious time for everybody. Madam Pomfrey found herself swamped by a constant stream of concerned enquiries from the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws; the Slytherins naturally kept their distance.

On the second day, Dumbledore smiled as he watched Neville Longbottom whispering the latest report from the Infirmary into Pansy Parkinson's ear. Miss Parkinson was doing a remarkable job of pretending he wasn't there and she wasn't listening, but the old wizard nodded absently as he watched her right hand reach out and give the boy's sleeve a slight tug before he walked away. And Dumbledore was particularly heartened by the way the entire table leant forward as one, and listened intently, as the dark haired girl began to talk.

The Weasleys of course, were keeping a constant vigil at Ron's bedside. Ginny, had been excused from lessons, and Bill and Charlie had both arrived at The Burrow during that first night, and had brought her and the twins back to Hogwarts with them the next morning.

Three others joined them _before_ classes, _between_ classes and _after_ classes; indeed if it hadn't been for a rather stern lecture the first day from Professor McGonagall, it would have included _during_ classes too. The other students had quickly recovered from the shock of seeing Harry Potter and Hermione Granger flanking Draco Malfoy, as they made their way to the Hospital Wing each day. The Slytherins had decided to pretend that they couldn't see them.

Actually, it had come as a bit of a shock to Draco to find himself being _welcomed_ to the Infirmary by Weasley's family. He had expected to be met with hexes and threats, at the very least. But now, he suspected they were all under strict orders from Mrs Weasley to play nicely with him. And he had a feeling that the twins in particular, were having a hard time restraining their natural impulses. But the rest of the family had been nothing but kind to Draco.

He could still recall his own feelings of dawning horror, when he had woken up that first morning to find himself surrounded by Weasleys. Heart thudding in his chest, Draco's whole life had just started to flash painfully past his startled eyes, when Mrs Weasley had stepped forward, pushed the twins firmly out of her way and had kissed Draco on the forehead.

Oh, well that explained it - clearly this was all some sort of weird dream.

"Draco dear, good you're awake. Would you like a cup of tea?" And suddenly he was sitting up, holding a steaming cup in his shaking hands.

Or perhaps not.

Thankfully, everyone's attention, including his own, was soon directed back to the occupant of the other bed. Weasley looked just the same as he had the night before, when Draco had fallen asleep holding his hand. Draco blushed at that; had they all seen him? And then he didn't care. Besides they must have seen him and they hadn't murdered him in his sleep - that was a good sign - _right?_

Madam Pomfrey had appeared then. "Aah, Mr Malfoy you're awake. Excellent." Everyone seemed unaccountably pleased to see him awake.

She walked to his side and peered closely into his alarmed face, "We seem to have nipped that nasty case of - of…" her voice trailed off and she started to look slightly panicked.

_"Arseitis_!" A voice in the background supplied.

The medi-witch seemed momentarily nonplussed, then with a slight twitch said, "Quite."

And, before he could say a word, Draco found himself surrounded by a screen and his clothes were being handed to him. More disturbingly, the old witch had paused to cup his face and mumble, "poor dear," before leaving abruptly. Clearly, the entire world had gone mad while he'd been sleeping.

Draco had wasted no time in dressing; loathe as he was to leave Weasley, he suddenly felt like an intruder, and he really needed some time alone to think. But he needed something else too. Taking a deep breath, Draco peered shyly around the edge of the screen. All the Weasleys had their backs to him. For a moment, he was tempted to just slip out unnoticed, but he couldn't; he needed to say something to Mrs Weasley first. Stepping out from behind the screen, he cleared his throat timidly. Several redheads turned in his direction. Draco took a hesitant step, and then, slowly approached Mrs Weasley, who was smiling kindly at him.

"Thank you." His voice felt rough, as if he hadn't used it for a long time. Ducking his head, he suddenly felt lost; what was he supposed to do now? Part of him was shouting _run_, but a louder, more persistent part was screaming _need to see him._

Molly's smile widened as she watched him, and then, she reached forward and took hold of his hand. "Come on, love. I'm sure you're anxious to see how he is." And she led Draco over to her son's bed, past the curious stares of the rest of her family.

As he looked down at Weasley's sleeping face, Draco was overcome with the need to reach out and touch him. Aah, sod it - his reputation was shot anyway. Lifting a trembling hand, he brushed a red strand off the pale forehead and was startled by a snigger. Looking up, he was confronted by a grinning Ginny Weasley on the other side of the bed. If Draco had been surprised by her laugh, then he nearly fell through the floor at her wink.

"_Ginny -_" Her mother's warning voice soon wiped the smirk from the girl's face, but she continued to stare defiantly at him.

Shaking his head slightly, Draco turned his attention back to the boy in the bed.

"There's been no change." Mrs Weasley had moved closer now, a comforting hand on his back. "But that's a good sign - shows he's fighting it."

Draco turned, a look of grim determination on his face. "He's going to be fine." His tone brooked no argument. Then, not even realising that he'd taken hold of Weasley's hand as he spoke, Draco looked back down at the boy and said. "He _has_ to be."

* * *

On the fifth day, his heart stopped.

It was late afternoon, and Dobby had appeared in the middle of Professor McGonagall's lesson, jumping anxiously from foot to foot.

"Dobby is sorry, Professor McGonagalalalgall," (Dobby had no problem _starting_ to say Professor McGonagall's name, he just found it hard to stop) "but the headmaster is sending me." He ran over to Harry's desk and pushed his huge nose into the boy's startled face. "Harry Potter is needed in the Infirmary."

And there it was, right there - the moment that Draco's heart stopped.

It hadn't taken long for it to start beating again though, and so rapidly and loudly that Draco thought his chest would explode, and that McGonagall would yell at him for making so much noise.

Dobby meanwhile had turned his sorrowful eyes to Hermione. "Miss Hermoaney too."

Then he tip-toed rather dramatically over to Draco's desk, and placing a hand at one side of his mouth stated loudly, in what he clearly believed to be a discreet whisper, "Master Draco must come also. But Dobby is not to let anyone else know that."

There were a few nervous sniggers and Draco would have blushed had he not been too concerned by what the sudden summons might mean for Weasley. Turning worried eyes to Harry, he was on his feet instantly and heading for the door without waiting for permission to leave; Harry and Hermione hard on his heels.

They didn't speak as they ran to the Infirmary; unable or at least unwilling to speak their fears. When they reached the large wooden doors all three paused. Taking a collective breath, they stood silently (apart from the sound of their strangled breaths), staring at the implacable wood; what lay beyond it?

Draco felt Hermione slip her hand into his, and looked down to meet fearful eyes. He noticed that she had taken hold of Harry's hand on her other side; with a quick, tense nod they stepped through the doors.

As they walked into the ward, voices greeted them - happy, joyful voices, and then one voice emerged from the babble; croaky and low, but unmistakable and Draco stopped.

Harry and Hermione halted a few steps ahead. Turning back to him, the look on their faces was proof enough that they had heard _him_ too.

Before either one could say anything, Draco shook his head, and speaking quietly, so as not to draw attention to them from the crowd around the bed, said, "I can't, he wouldn't want me here."

Harry stepped forward and started to say something, but Hermione interrupted him. "He's right Harry. Ron doesn't know, it would seem odd."

Then walking back to Draco, she took both his hands in hers, and leaning up, kissed him on the cheek. "But soon Draco…soon."

Smiling shakily at her, Draco gave a hurried nod to Harry, then turned abruptly, and walked quickly out the doors.

* * *

Although Ron had been declared out of danger, he was far from being well enough to leave the Hospital Wing; a fact that he bemoaned on a regular basis to anyone who stood still long enough. This, included the specialist summoned from St Mungos to discover how he had managed to contract a disease that he had supposedly been immunised against on a regular basis since birth. It had only taken a handful of tests to ascertain a genetic _doobrey_ (Ron couldn't recall the correct medical term for it) was the culprit and even less potions and waves of a wand to correct it. Ron was naturally relieved that it was nothing serious and even more pleased that it could in no way be blamed on his close association with Muggles.

Ron knew Hermione and Harry (in spite of his father's pureblood ancestry, Harry still thought of himself as Muggle) had felt guilty about the whole 'flu thing, feeling somehow that they were to blame. So, Ron was more than happy to be able to tell them that Healer Peligo had said that, not only had they had no hand in his recent illness, but that his proximity to them, had in fact, likely helped to boost his immune system to Muggle viral agents, and thereby, had in all probability, aided his recent recovery. Or, as Ron had put it, "See. Harry, every time you snotted on me when you had a cold, you were actually doing me a favour." Disgusting as that imagery was, Harry and Hermione had both smiled in relief at his words.

Once all the tests and incantations were over, Ron was more restless than ever; feeling the need to move, to stretch muscles that had lain inert for the better part of two weeks, and he was frustrated by Madam Pomfrey's orders to rest; being still just didn't sit well with Ron. And, to his utter surprise he had come to the realisation that he didn't actually like being popular either; waking up, Ron was appalled to discover himself the centre of so much attention. It was funny really. After all, he'd spent so much time feeling envious of Harry's _celebrity,_ thinking that it would be really cool to be the one in the spotlight for a change. But it turned out that he hated it. As he'd mumbled to Harry at the end of his second week of convalescence, "I don't know how you put up with it, mate." Harry had just shaken his head and grinned (he'd only been trying to tell the pillock that for the last seven years).

Ron couldn't believe the number of visitors he'd been getting and from _every_ House; the day Pansy Parkinson had walked in he'd literally fallen out of his chair. Annoying really, as Madam Pomfrey had chosen to take that as conclusive proof that it was too soon for him to be out of bed. Bloody Slytherins, they were all out to get him.

Parkinson had sniffed snootily down at him, dropped a large bag of Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans on his head and mumbled something about thinking she might find Draco there, before wandering out again. Draco - yeah, as if! Ron was half-way through the bag of beans before it suddenly occurred to him – shit, she _had_ – she'd really thought Draco would be there - with Harry. And it all came flooding back.

Pushing the bag of beans away, Ron had slumped down under the bed covers - perhaps Pomfrey was right, maybe he should stay in bed for a while longer.

After that, he couldn't help but notice how often Harry and Hermione mentioned the blond git. Bloody hell, that meant Hermione was in on it now and obviously approved. And now Ron knew, just knew, that they were going to try to convince him too.

Oh hell.

He wondered how difficult it would be to fake a coma.

* * *

Ron had been out of the Infirmary for a week and everyone was talking about the upcoming Halloween Ball that Dumbledore had announced the day before in breakfast.

Standing up and waiting for silence, the old wizard had stated that in recognition of a very recent, joyous event – he had paused then to nod in Ron's direction and everyone had started to clap, much to Ron's acute embarrassment – there would be a School Ball at Halloween, instead of the usual feast. And, much to the joy of the lower years, unlike the Yule Ball, this one would be open to all. A loud cheering had broken out then.

A day later and girls were still walking around in clusters, talking excitedly about what they were going to wear, and how they would have their hair on the night. Ron couldn't help but think that if they ever decided to put as much effort into their magic, then Voldemort would be well advised to run screaming in terror at the first sign of a pigtail.

Thankfully, partners weren't compulsory. Ron was very grateful – well, he'd not been well, a boy couldn't be expected to ask someone to a dance when he'd not been well – he didn't have the strength. He tried not to think about who Harry would be going with.

He stopped walking and looked up. He was outside McGonagall's classroom. How did he get here? Ron couldn't even remember leaving the common room.

Suddenly, he remembered the last time he'd stood alone outside this room; a fact that was brought home even more forcibly, when he heard the same two voices that he had heard then floating out the door. Shit, not again. Ron's brain said run, but his heart – stupid, bastard thing – said stay; to his utter self-disgust Ron found himself edging closer to the open door. Bloody brain was such a wuss.

* * *

Inside McGonagall's classroom, Harry grinned as he watched Draco pacing nervously back and forth. He had a feeling that the blond boy might have _finally_ reached breaking point.

"Saturday, Harry. It has to be Saturday or I'll never do it." Draco turned to look at Harry, eyes shining with emotion. "Saturday at the Ball I'm going to go for it."

A shadow suddenly fell across the floor as someone walked swiftly past the open door, followed by the sound of running feet. Momentarily distracted, Harry idly wondered who it might have been, then he shifted his attention back to the tense boy in front of him.

"Him, Draco," Harry grinned, "Saturday you're going to go for _him."_

The other boy blushed and grinned back. Then, fixing a determined look on his face, he gave Harry a quick nod then walked from the room, a definite spring in his step.

Harry shook his head slowly, a smile on his lips. Oh boy, Ron wasn't going to know what hit him.

* * *

Ron was breathless by the time he reached his dorm. He had run all the way, spurred on by his desperate need to be alone. Slumping onto his bed he let out a groan, he felt sick. He'd just heard Draco Malfoy declare his intention 'to go for it' at the upcoming Ball. That could only mean one thing - Malfoy and Harry were going to go public. Ron hadn't stuck around to hear anything more. He decided that he really would have to stop listening at doors (and that was the last time Ron let his heart over-rule his brain).

It was no good, he'd have to get out of going to the Ball. There was no way he could stand by and watch them together. The thought alone made him want to vomit - and this time he knew it had nothing to do with the Muggle 'flu. What was it with him and Balls - bad thought Ron, very bad thought! He shook his head grinning ruefully. But it was true; he did seem to have the worse luck when it came to ba- dances.

Ron had tried, he really had. He knew Harry wanted him to be friends with Draco. It had been obvious from the moment he'd woken up in the Infirmary. Harry had taken every opportunity to talk about the blond boy, telling Ron how much the Slytherin had changed. Harry had even tried to tell Ron that Draco had been worried about _him_ while he was ill. Yeah, Ron worried would recover and come between Malfoy and his boyfriend more like.

And, then, Harry had actually dragged Malfoy along with him on a visit. Ron had nearly fallen out of bed when the blond boy had popped out from behind Harry. What was Malfoy trying to do? Give Ron a coronary? It had quickly turned into the most excruciatingly uncomfortable twenty minutes of Ron's life - and Merlin knew Ron was no stranger to embarrassment.

But he'd tried. For Harry's sake he'd tried. The problem was the more Harry talked, the more he attempted to include Draco in their lives, the harder Ron fell. He didn't need his best friend to tell him how much Draco had changed. Ron could see it in every smile, in every nervous glance. This wasn't the cocky Slytherin they'd grown to despise over the years. Where was the arrogant know-it-all who had hidden behind his father's name for so long? - evaporated along with the snide remarks and sneers. In their place was a rather quiet boy, anxious to know Ron and be accepted. No, Ron didn't need Harry to tell him that Draco just wanted a chance. The problem was Ron didn't want to give him a chance, didn't want to accept him - well, not as a friend. And Ron_ couldn't_ accept him as Harry's boyfriend. Not when he was pretty sure he was quite possibly, nearly certainly, almost definitely in love with the little bastard himself!

Ron groaned again and turned his head into his pillow. If only he could forget the dreams.

Ever since Ron had woken up in the Infirmary, he had been haunted by the memory of dreams he'd had while sick. They must have been dreams - but they felt so real. Dreams of Draco holding his hand and talking softly to him, pleading with him to get well so Draco could finally tell Ron how he felt. The feel of long fingers sifting through his hair. Of soft lips on his temple, warm breath on his face, tearful words of prayer… 'don't leave me, please don't go…'

And Ron was beginning to wish that he hadn't listened to those pleas, hadn't fought so hard to stay; some days Ron wished he hadn't ever woken up.


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter 5. In which Draco decides to go for it...  
_

Breakfast at the Gryffindor table was very subdued. Harry lifted his head and looked around the hall. Actually, it was pretty subdued everywhere. For a moment, his eyes rested on the Slytherin table. Draco wasn't there. Harry wondered if he was still in the Infirmary with Ron - _Ron - _he squeezed his eyes shut.

"He's probably camping outside the Infirmary. Poor sod!"

Harry looked up quickly. Seamus was sitting across from him. He was talking to Dean and nodding towards Draco's empty seat.

"Wait." Dean suddenly looked worried.

Everyone was looking now.

"Do kisses while one of them is unconscious count?"

Harry looked down the length of the table; everyone seemed uncommonly interested in this conversation. He began to suspect that perhaps he wasn't the remarkably observant person he thought he was.

"No, definitely not." Seamus was shaking his head adamantly. "They both have to be fully conscious and acting of their own free will or it doesn't count." Noticing Harry's wide-eyed stare, he suddenly turned towards the other wizard and asked, "So, Harry, when are you going to join the sweepstake? If you have some insider information that you might be willing to share, I may be able to offer you a discount."

Harry leant down and started to bang his head on the table. Seamus nodded approvingly.

* * *

The next five days were a difficult, anxious time for everybody. Madam Pomfrey found herself swamped by a constant stream of concerned enquiries from the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws; the Slytherins naturally kept their distance.

On the second day, Dumbledore smiled as he watched Neville Longbottom whispering the latest report from the Infirmary into Pansy Parkinson's ear. Miss Parkinson was doing a remarkable job of pretending he wasn't there and she wasn't listening, but the old wizard nodded absently as he watched her right hand reach out and give the boy's sleeve a slight tug before he walked away. And Dumbledore was particularly heartened by the way the entire table leant forward as one, and listened intently, as the dark haired girl began to talk.

The Weasleys of course, were keeping a constant vigil at Ron's bedside. Ginny, had been excused from lessons, and Bill and Charlie had both arrived at The Burrow during that first night, and had brought her and the twins back to Hogwarts with them the next morning.

Three others joined them _before_ classes, _between_ classes and _after_ classes; indeed if it hadn't been for a rather stern lecture the first day from Professor McGonagall, it would have included _during_ classes too. The other students had quickly recovered from the shock of seeing Harry Potter and Hermione Granger flanking Draco Malfoy, as they made their way to the Hospital Wing each day. The Slytherins had decided to pretend that they couldn't see them.

Actually, it had come as a bit of a shock to Draco to find himself being _welcomed_ to the Infirmary by Weasley's family. He had expected to be met with hexes and threats, at the very least. But now, he suspected they were all under strict orders from Mrs Weasley to play nicely with him. And he had a feeling that the twins in particular, were having a hard time restraining their natural impulses. But the rest of the family had been nothing but kind to Draco.

He could still recall his own feelings of dawning horror, when he had woken up that first morning to find himself surrounded by Weasleys. Heart thudding in his chest, Draco's whole life had just started to flash painfully past his startled eyes, when Mrs Weasley had stepped forward, pushed the twins firmly out of her way and had kissed Draco on the forehead.

Oh, well that explained it - clearly this was all some sort of weird dream.

"Draco dear, good you're awake. Would you like a cup of tea?" And suddenly he was sitting up, holding a steaming cup in his shaking hands.

Or perhaps not.

Thankfully, everyone's attention, including his own, was soon directed back to the occupant of the other bed. Weasley looked just the same as he had the night before, when Draco had fallen asleep holding his hand. Draco blushed at that; had they all seen him? And then he didn't care. Besides they must have seen him and they hadn't murdered him in his sleep - that was a good sign - _right?_

Madam Pomfrey had appeared then. "Aah, Mr Malfoy you're awake. Excellent." Everyone seemed unaccountably pleased to see him awake.

She walked to his side and peered closely into his alarmed face, "We seem to have nipped that nasty case of - of…" her voice trailed off and she started to look slightly panicked.

_"Arse_itis!" A voice in the background supplied.

The medi-witch seemed momentarily nonplussed, then with a slight twitch said, "Quite."

And, before he could say a word, Draco found himself surrounded by a screen and his clothes were being handed to him. More disturbingly, the old witch had paused to cup his face and mumble, "poor dear," before leaving abruptly. Clearly, the entire world had gone mad while he'd been sleeping.

Draco had wasted no time in dressing; loathe as he was to leave Weasley, he suddenly felt like an intruder, and he really needed some time alone to think. But he needed something else too. Taking a deep breath, Draco peered shyly around the edge of the screen. All the Weasleys had their backs to him. For a moment, he was tempted to just slip out unnoticed, but he couldn't; he needed to say something to Mrs Weasley first. Stepping out from behind the screen, he cleared his throat timidly. Several redheads turned in his direction. Draco took a hesitant step, and then, slowly approached Mrs Weasley, who was smiling kindly at him.

"Thank you." His voice felt rough, as if he hadn't used it for a long time. Ducking his head, he suddenly felt lost; what was he supposed to do now? Part of him was shouting _run_, but a louder, more persistent part was screaming _need to see him._

Molly's smile widened as she watched him, and then, she reached forward and took hold of his hand. "Come on, love. I'm sure you're anxious to see how he is." And she led Draco over to her son's bed, past the curious stares of the rest of her family.

As he looked down at Weasley's sleeping face, Draco was overcome with the need to reach out and touch him. Aah, sod it - his reputation was shot anyway. Lifting a trembling hand, he brushed a red strand off the pale forehead and was startled by a snigger. Looking up, he was confronted by a grinning Ginny Weasley on the other side of the bed. If Draco had been surprised by her laugh, then he nearly fell through the floor at her wink.

"_Ginny -_" Her mother's warning voice soon wiped the smirk from the girl's face, but she continued to stare defiantly at him.

Shaking his head slightly, Draco turned his attention back to the boy in the bed.

"There's been no change." Mrs Weasley had moved closer now, a comforting hand on his back. "But that's a good sign - shows he's fighting it."

Draco turned, a look of grim determination on his face. "He's going to be fine." His tone brooked no argument. Then, not even realising that he'd taken hold of Weasley's hand as he spoke, Draco looked back down at the boy and said. "He _has_ to be."

* * *

On the fifth day, his heart stopped.

It was late afternoon, and Dobby had appeared in the middle of Professor McGonagall's lesson, jumping anxiously from foot to foot.

"Dobby is sorry, Professor McGonagalalalgall," (Dobby had no problem _starting_ to say Professor McGonagall's name, he just found it hard to stop) "but the headmaster is sending me." He ran over to Harry's desk and pushed his huge nose into the boy's startled face. "Harry Potter is needed in the Infirmary."

And there it was, right there - the moment that Draco's heart stopped.

It hadn't taken long for it to start beating again though, and so rapidly and loudly that Draco thought his chest would explode, and that McGonagall would yell at him for making so much noise.

Dobby meanwhile had turned his sorrowful eyes to Hermione. "Miss Hermoaney too."

Then he tip-toed rather dramatically over to Draco's desk, and placing a hand at one side of his mouth stated loudly, in what he clearly believed to be a discreet whisper, "Master Draco must come also. But Dobby is not to let anyone else know that."

There were a few nervous sniggers and Draco would have blushed had he not been too concerned by what the sudden summons might mean for Weasley. Turning worried eyes to Harry, he was on his feet instantly and heading for the door without waiting for permission to leave; Harry and Hermione hard on his heels.

They didn't speak as they ran to the Infirmary; unable or at least unwilling to speak their fears. When they reached the large wooden doors all three paused. Taking a collective breath, they stood silently (apart from the sound of their strangled breaths), staring at the implacable wood; what lay beyond it?

Draco felt Hermione slip her hand into his, and looked down to meet fearful eyes. He noticed that she had taken hold of Harry's hand on her other side; with a quick, tense nod they stepped through the doors.

As they walked into the ward, voices greeted them - happy, joyful voices, and then one voice emerged from the babble; croaky and low, but unmistakable and Draco stopped.

Harry and Hermione halted a few steps ahead. Turning back to him, the look on their faces was proof enough that they had heard _him_ too.

Before either one could say anything, Draco shook his head, and speaking quietly, so as not to draw attention to them from the crowd around the bed, said, "I can't, he wouldn't want me here."

Harry stepped forward and started to say something, but Hermione interrupted him. "He's right Harry. Ron doesn't know, it would seem odd."

Then walking back to Draco, she took both his hands in hers, and leaning up, kissed him on the cheek. "But soon Draco…soon."

Smiling shakily at her, Draco gave a hurried nod to Harry, then turned abruptly, and walked quickly out the doors.

* * *

Although Ron had been declared out of danger, he was far from being well enough to leave the Hospital Wing; a fact that he bemoaned on a regular basis to anyone who stood still long enough. This, included the specialist summoned from St Mungos to discover how he had managed to contract a disease that he had supposedly been immunised against on a regular basis since birth. It had only taken a handful of tests to ascertain a genetic _doobrey_ (Ron couldn't recall the correct medical term for it) was the culprit and even less potions and waves of a wand to correct it. Ron was naturally relieved that it was nothing serious and even more pleased that it could in no way be blamed on his close association with Muggles.

Ron knew Hermione and Harry (in spite of his father's pureblood ancestry, Harry still thought of himself as Muggle) had felt guilty about the whole 'flu thing, feeling somehow that they were to blame. So, Ron was more than happy to be able to tell them that Healer Peligo had said that, not only had they had no hand in his recent illness, but that his proximity to them, had in fact, likely helped to boost his immune system to Muggle viral agents, and thereby, had in all probability, aided his recent recovery. Or, as Ron had put it, "See. Harry, every time you snotted on me when you had a cold, you were actually doing me a favour." Disgusting as that imagery was, Harry and Hermione had both smiled in relief at his words.

Once all the tests and incantations were over, Ron was more restless than ever; feeling the need to move, to stretch muscles that had lain inert for the better part of two weeks, and he was frustrated by Madam Pomfrey's orders to rest; being still just didn't sit well with Ron. And, to his utter surprise he had come to the realisation that he didn't actually like being popular either; waking up, Ron was appalled to discover himself the centre of so much attention. It was funny really. After all, he'd spent so much time feeling envious of Harry's _celebrity,_ thinking that it would be really cool to be the one in the spotlight for a change. But it turned out that he hated it. As he'd mumbled to Harry at the end of his second week of convalescence, "I don't know how you put up with it, mate." Harry had just shaken his head and grinned (he'd only been trying to tell the pillock that for the last seven years).

Ron couldn't believe the number of visitors he'd been getting and from _every_ House; the day Pansy Parkinson had walked in he'd literally fallen out of his chair. Annoying really, as Madam Pomfrey had chosen to take that as conclusive proof that it was too soon for him to be out of bed. Bloody Slytherins, they were all out to get him.

Parkinson had sniffed snootily down at him, dropped a large bag of Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans on his head and mumbled something about thinking she might find Draco there, before wandering out again. Draco - yeah, as if! Ron was half-way through the bag of beans before it suddenly occurred to him – shit, she _had_ – she'd really thought Draco would be there - with Harry. And it all came flooding back.

Pushing the bag of beans away, Ron had slumped down under the bed covers - perhaps Pomfrey was right, maybe he should stay in bed for a while longer.

After that, he couldn't help but notice how often Harry and Hermione mentioned the blond git. Bloody hell, that meant Hermione was in on it now and obviously approved. And now Ron knew, just knew, that they were going to try to convince him too.

Oh hell.

He wondered how difficult it would be to fake a coma.

* * *

Ron had been out of the Infirmary for a week and everyone was talking about the upcoming Halloween Ball that Dumbledore had announced the day before in breakfast.

Standing up and waiting for silence, the old wizard had stated that in recognition of a very recent, joyous event – he had paused then to nod in Ron's direction and everyone had started to clap, much to Ron's acute embarrassment – there would be a School Ball at Halloween, instead of the usual feast. And, much to the joy of the lower years, unlike the Yule Ball, this one would be open to all. A loud cheering had broken out then.

A day later and girls were still walking around in clusters, talking excitedly about what they were going to wear, and how they would have their hair on the night. Ron couldn't help but think that if they ever decided to put as much effort into their magic, then Voldemort would be well advised to run screaming in terror at the first sign of a pigtail.

Thankfully, partners weren't compulsory. Ron was very grateful – well, he'd not been well, a boy couldn't be expected to ask someone to a dance when he'd not been well – he didn't have the strength. He tried not to think about who Harry would be going with.

He stopped walking and looked up. He was outside McGonagall's classroom. How did he get here? Ron couldn't even remember leaving the common room.

Suddenly, he remembered the last time he'd stood alone outside this room; a fact that was brought home even more forcibly, when he heard the same two voices that he had heard then floating out the door. Shit, not again. Ron's brain said run, but his heart – stupid, bastard thing – said stay; to his utter self-disgust Ron found himself edging closer to the open door. Bloody brain was such a wuss.

* * *

Inside McGonagall's classroom, Harry grinned as he watched Draco pacing nervously back and forth. He had a feeling that the blond boy might have _finally_ reached breaking point.

"Saturday, Harry. It has to be Saturday or I'll never do it." Draco turned to look at Harry, eyes shining with emotion. "Saturday at the Ball I'm going to go for it."

A shadow suddenly fell across the floor as someone walked swiftly past the open door, followed by the sound of running feet. Momentarily distracted, Harry idly wondered who it might have been, then he shifted his attention back to the tense boy in front of him.

"Him, Draco," Harry grinned, "Saturday you're going to go for _him."_

The other boy blushed and grinned back. Then, fixing a determined look on his face, he gave Harry a quick nod then walked from the room, a definite spring in his step.

Harry shook his head slowly, a smile on his lips. Oh boy, Ron wasn't going to know what hit him.

* * *

Ron was breathless by the time he reached his dorm. He had run all the way, spurred on by his desperate need to be alone. Slumping onto his bed he let out a groan, he felt sick. He'd just heard Draco Malfoy declare his intention 'to go for it' at the upcoming Ball. That could only mean one thing - Malfoy and Harry were going to go public. Ron hadn't stuck around to hear anything more. He decided that he really would have to stop listening at doors (and that was the last time Ron let his heart over-rule his brain).

It was no good, he'd have to get out of going to the Ball. There was no way he could stand by and watch them together. The thought alone made him want to vomit - and this time he knew it had nothing to do with the Muggle 'flu. What was it with him and Balls - bad thought Ron, very bad thought! He shook his head grinning ruefully. But it was true; he did seem to have the worse luck when it came to ba- dances.

Ron had tried, he really had. He knew Harry wanted him to be friends with Draco. It had been obvious from the moment he'd woken up in the Infirmary. Harry had taken every opportunity to talk about the blond boy, telling Ron how much the Slytherin had changed. Harry had even tried to tell Ron that Draco had been worried about _him_ while he was ill. Yeah, Ron worried would recover and come between Malfoy and his boyfriend more like.

And, then, Harry had actually dragged Malfoy along with him on a visit. Ron had nearly fallen out of bed when the blond boy had popped out from behind Harry. What was Malfoy trying to do? Give Ron a coronary? It had quickly turned into the most excruciatingly uncomfortable twenty minutes of Ron's life - and Merlin knew Ron was no stranger to embarrassment.

But he'd tried. For Harry's sake he'd tried. The problem was the more Harry talked, the more he attempted to include Draco in their lives, the harder Ron fell. He didn't need his best friend to tell him how much Draco had changed. Ron could see it in every smile, in every nervous glance. This wasn't the cocky Slytherin they'd grown to despise over the years. Where was the arrogant know-it-all who had hidden behind his father's name for so long? - evaporated along with the snide remarks and sneers. In their place was a rather quiet boy, anxious to know Ron and be accepted. No, Ron didn't need Harry to tell him that Draco just wanted a chance. The problem was Ron didn't want to give him a chance, didn't want to accept him - well, not as a friend. And Ron_ couldn't_ accept him as Harry's boyfriend. Not when he was pretty sure he was quite possibly, nearly certainly, almost definitely in love with the little bastard himself!

Ron groaned again and turned his head into his pillow. If only he could forget the dreams.

Ever since Ron had woken up in the Infirmary, he had been haunted by the memory of dreams he'd had while sick. They must have been dreams - but they felt so real. Dreams of Draco holding his hand and talking softly to him, pleading with him to get well so Draco could finally tell Ron how he felt. The feel of long fingers sifting through his hair. Of soft lips on his temple, warm breath on his face, tearful words of prayer… 'don't leave me, please don't go…'

And Ron was beginning to wish that he hadn't listened to those pleas, hadn't fought so hard to stay; some days Ron wished he hadn't ever woken up.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 6. _In which we discover the Sorting Hat doesn't always get it right…_

For two days Ron got away with it. Every time the subject of the Ball came up, Ron would suddenly remember that he had to be somewhere else and leave quickly.

On the third day, a parcel arrived from his mother with the morning post.

Ginny had immediately started to snigger and then Ron heard her mutter to Hermione, "Merlin help us not more dress robes!"

Ron he lost his appetite as a wave of deja vu swept over him leaving him feeling sick; he stared forlornly at the box in his hands.

Harry nudged him, "Go on, mate. They can't be as bad as last time."

Ron wasn't convinced but he lifted the lid slowly and peered nervously into the box.

The first thing he noticed was a distinct lack of frills or lace. He heaved a sigh of relief - so far so good. The next thing that caught his attention was the colour – they were a deep midnight blue - not bad_._ Ron lifted them out of the box and stood holding them in front of him. A wolf whistle from further down the table caused him to sit down again quickly, blushing madly. He looked over at Hermione and Ginny who were grinning knowingly at him.

"You knew," Ron said with a shake of his head and a wry smile.

Hermione laughed, "Oh, Ron, you should have seen your face."

Ginny reached over to take the robes out of his hands. She lifted them up and held them next to Ron's face. "Hermione and I helped choose them. See, Herm,"and she turned to her friend, "I told you this colour would bring out his eyes."

The blush that had been gradually fading developed a whole new intensity and Ron tried to wrestle the robes out of his sister's hands. "Blimey, Gin, stop talking such rot!"

"Aah, is ickle Ronniekins embarrassed about his pretty eyes?" Letting go of the robes, Ginny leant over further and ruffled his hair. Then, glancing over his shoulder, her smile broadened. "I think someone else is admiring your pretty eyes." And she gave a sly wink.

Ron turned quickly to see who she was winking at. And found himself staring into Draco Malfoy's startled eyes. The blond was blushing almost as much as he was. Ron nodded abruptly at him and then turned back to glare at his sister. But she didn't even notice; she was too engrossed in a heated exchange of whispers with Hermione.

Hermione it seemed, had been equally unimpressed by Ginny's recent antics. Well, it was nice to see at least _one_ of Ron's friends sticking up for him, and he turned to frown at a still laughing Harry.

Ron couldn't make out much of the girls' words but he thought he heard something about 'no hints' and 'disqualification'. Barmy, the lot of them.

Ron stood up and announced that he was going to put his new robes away before class. As he walked out, he resisted the urge to see if Draco was still staring at Harry.

* * *

Unfortunately, Ron knew that the arrival of the robes would mean an inevitable conversation about the Ball. By making sure he only turned up for Transfiguration a minute before McGonagall, and then pretending he had to fetch his Charms book from his trunk before their next class, he managed to postpone the moment until lunchtime. Tempted as he was to duck out on lunch too, Ron knew that his absence from any meal, would look highly suspicious and was bound to warrant comment. So, reluctantly, he decided that this would probably be the best time to let his friends know that he wouldn't actually be going to the Ball.

"I think you'll look very dashing in your new robes, Ron." Right on cue, Hermione started the conversation rolling as soon as he sat down.

Taking a deep breath, Ron readied himself for what he was pretty sure was not going to be a favourable response to his next words.

"Yeah, well goodness knows when I'll get to wear them." He rushed on, ignoring the looks of confusion being exchanged amongst his friends. "I don't know why mum bought them really. I mean, I only wore the ones the twins gave me once before they got too short. And what are the chances of _me_ needing dress robes once we leave here?" Ron grabbed his goblet of pumpkin juice and gulped down nearly half.

Hermione recovered first. "What do you mean you don't know when you'll wear them? You'll wear them for the Halloween Ball, silly." And she frowned over at him, as if daring him to contradict her.

Okay, here it goes…

"Er, well that's just it - I'm not going to the Ball." Ron smiled weakly.

Hermione had opened her mouth to reply but she never got the chance.

"Yes, you bloody well are!" It was Ginny. She was standing behind Ron, having just walked in.

He turned to face her. "Look, Gin, I-"

She didn't allow him to continue; grabbing hold of the back of his hair, Ginny leant down until their noses were almost touching.

"Now just you listen to me, Ronald Bilius Weasley. This Ball is being given in honour of you surviving a rather nasty little illness, in case you've forgotten. Have you any idea what you put us all through?"

Ron had just started to open his mouth to point out that it hadn't exactly been a picnic for him either, when she carried on.

"We deserve this dance for all the time we spent sitting next to your bed, staring at your ugly, pasty face. So you will stop this 'not going' nonsense, and will turn up on the night in question, looking scrubbed, brushed and happy to be there." She gave a vicious yank to his head, "Is that understood?"

Gulping, he gave a frightened nod, and she finally loosened the death grip on his hair. Ron immediately reached a hand up to massage his abused scalp, checking for a bald patch in the process – blimey, she had a strong grip.

"Good!" Ginny nodded curtly at him, and then moved away to take a seat further down the table.

Ron frowned suspiciously when he saw Seamus clap her on the back and Dean give her the thumbs up.

And that was another thing - just _why_ was everyone so keen for him to go to this ruddy Ball anyway?

* * *

Saturday came around much too quickly in Ron's opinion (so just why Ginny, Hermione and Neville - _Neville_ - had spent the last three days insisting that it would never arrive he didn't know).

Ron sat slumped sullenly over his plate of toast. He hadn't entirely given up on being able to get out of going to the Ball, but there was no denying, hope was fading fast.

Twice when Ron had thought she was in a good mood he had tried to reason with Ginny. The first time she had threatened to share certain naked baby pictures with the rest of the school; the second time castration had been mentioned.

It might have been easier had Ron had any allies, but everyone else seemed to feel the same way as Ginny and never tired of telling him that he just _had_ to attend the dance. At last in despair, he thought of feigning illness, but then remembering the concern his last illness had generated, had felt ashamed for even considering it.

He sat up and squared his shoulders. He was just going to have to grin and bear it - Ginny was right it _was_ the least he could do. And he didn't have to stay for long. Ron was sure even _she_ wouldn't be cross if he said he was tired and left early. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

Just then, Ron's attention was drawn to the entrance, where Harry had paused in deep conversation with Draco Malfoy; dark head leaned close to blond, as Harry whispered something in the Slytherine's ear. Draco suddenly ducked his head, as a deep blush spread across his face, while Harry looked up and grinned in Ron's direction.

Fuck, Ron thought, just kill me now.

* * *

If breakfast had been bad, lunch was excruciating. The subject that Ron had so carefully avoided mentioning in front of Harry, was hauled out almost as soon as they had both sat down.

"So, Harry have you asked anyone to the Ball?"

Ron narrowed his eyes and frowned; there was a very good chance that he was going to have to murder his sister. It was either that, or just cut out the middle man, and move in with Gilderoy Lockhart in St Mungo's.

Thankfully, Draco was nowhere in sight, which helped a little, but Ron's stomach still twisted painfully into a tight knot as he waited for Harry's response. At least he wasn't kept in suspense for long.

"As a matter of fact, Ginny, I've asked -"

Oh Merlin, Ron was going to puke all over his plate.

"- no one. What about you?"

Ron couldn't stop the rush of relieved breath that exploded from his throat, causing a flurry of concern from his friends. Luckily, he managed to turn it into a strangled cough and shrugged it off as a stray crumb going down the wrong way.

"Honestly, Ron, you really ought to try breathing when you eat." Ginny shook her head disgustedly. Then, turning back to Harry, she grinned cheekily as she responded to his earlier question, "You'll just have to wait and see."

Harry laughed, shaking his head.

Ron took a deep breath. Well, that bought him a little time; at least they wouldn't be turning up arm in arm. Perhaps he could duck out before Draco made his move.

He was just starting to feel better than he had for days when another thought hit him - even if he managed to avoid the big announcement, he'd still have to witness the aftermath when he woke up the next day.

He stood up abruptly. "Er, I'm not very hungry, think I might go and lie down for a bit."

Ginny grinned at him, "Good idea, Ron - save your strength for the evening's activities."

He frowned at her, a little concerned by the accompanying sniggers of his friends and the knowing looks that seemed to be being exchanged amongst the group. Ron was really beginning to suspect that he might be missing out on something important.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Errol flew to Ron's dorm window.

Well, okay _to _may not have been the most accurate description - _into_ was probably more fitting.

Luckily for Errol, Ron had been staring out the open window at the time, which probably saved the daft bird's life; quickly reaching out a hand he managed to grab the ancient owl before Errol had finished sliding down the glass. Putting the concussed bird on his bed, Ron untied the letter from his leg. It was from his dad.

_Dear Ron_

I hope you received your new dress robes. I am a little concerned that you haven't seen fit to let us know, or indeed, thank us – robes aren't cheap, Ron – but I promised your mum I wouldn't mention that, after all you have been very ill and we're all just grateful that you're well again.

Anyway, your mum and I hope you have a nice time this evening at the Ball. I think it was very thoughtful of Professor Dumbledore to hold a dance in honour of your recovery. I hope that you have at least thanked _**him**__._

Don't stay up too late – remember you need your rest. And if you go outside – for whatever reason – wrap up warm. Oh, and if you do feel the need for some fresh air, I've heard that just after 10.30pm is a very good time to get the most benefit from, you know, the good things that are, in fact, in air. But don't mention that I said that to anyone – particularly Mr Finnigan or your mum.

Oh, and Christmas will be here before we know it. Harry and Hermione are, as always, welcome to join us at The Burrow. And your mum wants you to invite Draco too. I know he's a Slytherin, but we'll deal with that. He will always be welcome here (I'll have a word with the twins).

Well, Ron, enjoy yourself son.

All my love

Dad

Apparently, the entire world had gone mad. And just _why_ was Ron's mum inviting _Draco_ for Christmas? Was she trying to put him back in the Hospital Wing? Ron paused to think, and then something awful occurred to him. Bloody hell, she knew!

It was the only possible explanation. His mum, knew about Harry and Draco. That had to be it and what was worse - she was obviously fine with it. And what about Ron's dad? Did he know too? Bastards_._ Every last one of them. Right now Ron hated them all – Harry, Draco, Hermione, his mum – his entire family – the entire freaking school. Everyone in fact who was okay with this.

Because, it had just occurred to Ron, that if they were okay with _Harry_ and Draco, then they would probably have been just as okay with _him_ and Draco.

Ron put his head in his hands and shook it. Fuck. It could have been him - it _should_ have been him.

Something else occurred to Ron a little while later – why wasn't he allowed to tell Seamus about his dad's musings regarding the best time to obtain fresh air? Or his mum? And why was his dad talking about fresh air in the first place?

He wondered for a moment if his dad had been drinking before he wrote the letter? Perhaps the strain of the last few weeks was beginning to take its toll. This made Ron feel suddenly very guilty. He glanced at Errol on the bed; clearly that pathetic bunch of feathers wasn't up to a return journey.

He walked over to his trunk and took out some parchment and his quill. He began to write a reply, starting with an apology for his failure to thank them for his new robes. He'd take it to the owlery when he'd finished and get Pig to deliver it.

* * *

It was dark by the time Ron reached the owlery, which probably explained why he failed to notice the figure huddled in the corner, ruffling the feathers of a magnificent Eagle owl that was perched on his knee.

Walking to the centre of the cavernous room Ron squinted up into the rafters. Where was the annoying little squirt?

"Pig!" He waited for the inevitable mad flapping of wings, that usually followed such a summons; he didn't have to wait long.

In spite of having the little lunatic for almost four years, Pig had never grown. This had surprised everyone; they'd all assumed he was a bit of a runt, who would grow in time. But Pig was still the small, excitable ball of feathers, that he had been that first day. And Ron wouldn't have him any other way. Of course, he'd never admit it, but Ron was exceedingly fond of the mad sod, and would be devastated if anything ever happened to him.

He smiled now, as he watched the little bird fly down towards him, tooting madly.

"Come 'ere, you silly brute." Ron grabbed the owl as it flew wildly about his head. Holding it close to his chest, he stroked its feathers affectionately.

"How are you, runt? Miss me?" He held the bird up to his face. Ron hadn't seen him since before he was ill and he'd really missed the little guy. Pig cooed contentedly into his hair. "I missed you too."

Ron held him in front of his eyes, "Tell anyone I said that and you're hippogriff chow!" And he kissed the little owl on the beak.

"Ahem."

Ron spun round at the sound. And found himself face to face with a somewhat awkward looking Draco Malfoy. Ron couldn't speak and felt the rapid advance of a blush that had started somewhere around his knees.

"Er, sorry." Draco found his voice first. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I just came to see Hermes." And he cocked his head toward the owl now resting on his arm.

Ron still couldn't trust himself to speak but he did manage a small nod of acknowledgement.

Draco walked towards Ron smiling. "He's a cute little thing, isn't he?" And he nodded towards the small owl that was currently attempting to gnaw Ron's thumb off.

Coming to his senses, Ron realised he would have to say something. "Yeah," he said. "He's not bad – for a mental case." And he smiled affectionately at the small bundle of feathers that was pecking viciously at his skin.

Draco was standing in front of him now and reached out to stroke the little owl behind the ear.

Ron found himself mesmerised by the long, pale fingers – wish he'd stroke me like that…

The blond boy turned to look at him, startling Ron from his thoughts. "You're looking well -" He suddenly broke off and blushed, "I mean - er - you know - since your illness. I mean you seem to have recovered well." He looked away and started to stroke his own owl furiously, earning himself an annoyed nip on the knuckle; clearly Hermes didn't appreciate the rough treatment. Neither boy noticed.

Ron was panicking - what do I say? What do I say? Aargh.

"Thanks." Ron knew his face had to be crimson, but luckily the other boy wasn't looking at him. Merlin, he had to get out of there quick.

"I have to go-"

"Ron, will you-"

They both laughed, embarrassed.

Ron shrugged, looking awkward, "After you," he said politely.

"No, no." Draco shook his head still blushing, "you go first."

Ron rubbed the back of his neck grinning, "Er, well. I should probably go - got to get ready for the Ball and everything."

Draco nodded, "Of course, me too." Then he smiled shyly, "See you there?"

But that look was too much, and Ron could only nod abruptly, before he hurried from the room, wanting to murder his dad for ever putting him there in the first place (he'd worry about the fairness of that thought later).

It wasn't until he reached the common room that Ron realised he still had hold of Pig and the letter lay forgotten in his pocket.

Bugger.

Well, there was no way Ron was going to risk running into Malfoy again; he'd send it from his room window, and he trudged wearily up the stairs.

This was rapidly turning into one of the worst days of Ron's life.

* * *

Ginny marched up the stairs to the owlery, a determined tilt to her chin. She was attempting to track down her wayward brother and Parvati had said that she'd seen him heading in this direction. If the big git thought he could hide out here and miss the Ball, he was very sadly mistaken - she'd been practising her Bat Bogey hex especially.

She stepped into the room and frowned. Draco Malfoy was apparently attempting to knock the wall down using only his head. Ginny started to grin; something told her that she may have just missed Ron.

Malfoy was mumbling something.

"Fuck. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What was I thinking? 'See you there?' Aargh!"

Ginny hitched herself up into one of the alcoves that ran around the room and settled back to enjoy the show. Malfoy had started to kick the wall now too. After a few moments, when she wondered idly if Dobby had access to popcorn, she decided to join in the fun.

"Either the grey blandness of that wall has really offended your aesthetic sensibilities, or you have just had an encounter with my brother."

Malfoy turned abruptly at the sound of her voice, a look of abject horror on his face.

* * *

Draco bit back a groan, could his day possibly get any worse?

"Well I think that look pretty much says it all," The Weaslette said. "So what did he do then? Or was it what he _didn't_ do?" And to Draco's horror she waggled her eyebrows in a very suggestive manner.

Apparently it could.

"Er, he - I -" Draco's voice trailed off; shaking his head slowly, he looked down at the ground.

Please just let me die now.

Weasley's sister took pity on him. "Don't worry, I'm sure it will all work out in the end. After all," she went on. "They do say anticipation is the strongest aphrodisiac, and just wait 'til you see him in his new dress robes." This time she winked at him.

Oh Merlin, Draco thought, I have to get out of here.

"Er, right, erm," he stuttered out. "I'm going now - that is I'm er - going to go." He nodded at the exit and then strode quickly towards it, half afraid that the redheaded girl would try to stop him. Draco was beginning to think that the entire Weasley clan should come with a health warning - do not attempt to operate heavy machinery, walk in a straight line or think while under the influence.

* * *

Ginny grinned at Malfoy's retreating back. She had a sudden wicked thought (and Seamus would never know)_._ "Actually, you know," she said slyly. "Those robes - he looks really rather sexy in them. In fact, if he wasn't my brother…"

She paused to let that last comment sink in. And by the way Malfoy had come to an abrupt halt, she was quite certain that it had.

"They'll be falling all over themselves to get at him," she carried on. "Parvati had a very predatory glint in her eye as she watched him walk by earlier and I could have sworn Justin Finch-Fletchley winked at him at lunch."

There was a definite stiffening of the shoulders at that. Ginny tried not to giggle. This was so easy.

"I just thought you should know," she said. "I'd hate to see you miss out just because you waited too long. My advice would be to get in there early, before the vultures descend."

A slight twitch to the shoulders was the only sign that Malfoy had heard her, but there was definitely a renewed sense of urgency in his step as he hurried off.

Jumping down from her perch, Ginny rushed to the top of the stairs and shouted after the rapidly retreating boy. "I certainly wouldn't leave it much beyond 8pm – probably 8.15 at the latest! Hermione's definitely been eyeing his arse even more than usual!"

Malfoy jumped the remaining five steps and sprinted round the corner.

Sighing happily, Ginny folded her arms across her chest and leant back against the wall.

My work here is done, she thought contentedly.

(It had been remarked upon on more than one occasion, and by more than one person, that there was a good chance that the Sorting Hat may have made a bit of a cock-up when it came to Miss Ginerva Weasley).


	8. Chapter 8

_Chapter 7. In which it turns out amoeba really do have the observational ability of well, amoeba..._

Draco was trying his best not to hyperventilate into the fruit punch; he was only marginally succeeding.

Ron had just walked in and oh my friggin' dark lord, he looked utterly, totally fu- er, loveable. *cough*

He snickered slightly hysterically into his now empty glass. Hiccupping softly, Draco vaguely wondered what fruit was in the punch, it tasted...interesting. With a happy smile, he helped himself to some more.

* * *

Three feet away, Seamus watched the red-faced, giggling Slytherin. He opened his robes as casually as he could, and glanced at the empty bottle in the inside pocket. Perhaps he'd overdone it.

Behind him, and slightly to his right, Professor Snape narrowed his eyes as he shifted his steely gaze between Draco and Finnigan.

He had been quick to notice the Irish boy's rather intense interest in Mr Malfoy's current state, followed by the Gryffindor's surreptitious examination of the inside of his robes. It didn't take a genius to work out the connection.

With a subtle shift of his wrist the empty bottle, that had been concealed up Snape's own sleeve, slid into his palm; it was but the work of a moment to drop it unseen into the pumpkin lantern at his elbow.

He glanced again towards the refreshment table; Draco was sniggering now and wagging his finger at the bowl of punch.

Oops_._

Snape walked quickly towards the exit, perhaps it was time for a stroll outside.

* * *

Ginny glanced at her watch again. Damn, what was Draco doing?

She glared over at the Slytherin. He appeared to be giggling and talking to the punch bowl. Ron had been here for at least fifteen minutes and it was already nearing 8pm.

Oh, this wouldn't do.

Grabbing hold of her date's arm, Ginny proceeded to drag him over to stand behind a swaying Draco.

Swaying?

Looking around, it didn't take Ginny long to locate Seamus; she had been fairly certain that he wouldn't be far from Draco's side. She frowned suspiciously at him.

* * *

Sensing eyes boring into him, Seamus looked up to be met by the furious glare of Ginny Weasley. Oh dear, he had a feeling that there was going to be some rather creative explaining in his very near future; Seamus desperately tried to don an air of wounded innocence.

* * *

Ginny narrowed her eyes as she noted the look on the Irish boy's face. Just as she'd suspected - guilty as hell. Well, at the very least she was going to demand a refund.

She looked back to Draco. The blond boy was staring raptly across the room now. Following his gaze, Ginny wasn't surprised to discover the object of his intense scrutiny. She found herself smiling at the look of devout adoration in the Slytherin's eyes.

Sod it. Who cared _when _it happened, as long as it happened?

Ginny slipped her hand into Blaise's (and with a bit of luck, Ron would be so preoccupied with Draco, that he would totally fail to notice who was her date for the evening).

* * *

Ron was shuffling nervously from foot to foot as he stood next to the buffet table.

He'd gravitated there by instinct as soon as he'd walked in; there was something very comforting about the sight of so much food. Of course, the fact that Ron had been unable to actually partake of any of it, was a clear indication of where his thoughts – and stomach – currently lay.

He glanced again at Harry who was standing next to him, staring across the room at Draco. For a wistful moment Ron allowed his eyes to rest on the punch bowl next to the Slytherin and sighed (sadly it was probably too shallow to mount a successful suicide attempt).

A movement at Ron's side drew his attention; Harry was tipping his head towards Ron while glaring over at Draco. Poor Harry. He was obviously trying to warn the blond boy not to approach him while he was standing next to Ron. All at once Ron felt ashamed. He was being so selfish, just because he also had feelings for the Slytherin git he was forcing his best friend to hide his own attachment.

Well, no more. Ron could be the bigger man (even if he was probably going to cry about it later like a great big girl).

Taking a deep breath, he turned to face his friend. "It's okay, Harry. I know you like Malfoy and I understand. I er, give you my blessing." He ducked his head, unable to meet the other boy's eyes.

* * *

Harry scrunched up his face in thought. _What?_

Realisation dawned suddenly; reaching over he smacked Ron hard on the side of his head.

"You total fuckwit_"

But before Harry could say anything more, Ron was whisked away from him.

* * *

One minute, Ron's head was reeling from Harry's unprovoked attack - tetchy bastard - the next, he was on the dance floor.

Then his head stopped spinning. And Ron was finally able to recognise who it was that had their hands around his waist. Who it was that was smiling shyly at him. Who it was that had caused all Ron's other senses - save blessed sight - to fade away. And suddenly Ron wanted to build a house in those eyes and move in.

* * *

Harry watched the two boys and smiled.

Hermione walked up to him and slipped her hand into his. Turning, he smiled down at her and squeezed her hand.

"Well, looks like they finally got there," Hermione said.

The dark haired boy nodded, "About fucking time."

"Language, Mr Potter!" Madam Pomfrey shook her head sternly as she waltzed by in the headmaster's arms. Dumbledore spun her around and winked at Harry and Hermione before moving them swiftly across the dance floor.

"He's pretty nifty on his feet for an old geezer," Harry said conversationally.

* * *

Draco's hand was tangled in Ron's hair, while his tongue had put a down payment on Ron's mouth and was mapping out where the furniture would go. The blond's other hand had somehow found its way inside Ron's robes and under his shirt.

It was beginning to dawn on Ron that he may have had hold of the wrong end of the stick.

In fact, there appeared to be a definite possibility that he may have had his wires crossed all along.

He was also beginning to suspect that it may well have been _him_ and not Harry that Draco was looking at all those times after all.

In short, it was starting to look like Ron was indeed a total fuckwit.

Oops.

Seems he really did have the observational ability of an amoeba.

He took a moment to reconsider recent events.

Ron had been standing on the dance floor where he'd so recently been dragged by Malfoy, staring transfixed at the other boy when Fate - the evil, conniving bastard - had decided the time was ripe to throw a Seamus Finnigan into the mix. And so the Irish git had waltzed into view, a giggling Lavender Brown at his side (for never let be said that Fate was without a sense of humour).

Seamus had leant over, thumped Draco on the back and shouted, "Well, kiss him then, you prat!" Then, with a wink at Ron, he'd waltzed off with Lavender, who'd left an unladylike snort of laughter in her wake.

[Seamus would later face disqualification.]

Ron's other senses had come back to him pretty soon after that. Both boys had immediately dropped their hands to their sides and looked away, blushing madly.

Luckily, for the sake of Seamus' future grandchildren, some of that famous Gryffindor courage had somehow managed to fight its way kicking and screaming to the surface (seems there's nothing like a near death experience to teach you the importance of seizing the moment).

"Er, maybe - erm - would you, y'know - er, maybe, want air, outside. I mean, that's - er, where it is - fresh air, outside. If you want it - air that is!"

(Okay, _seize_ may have been a bit of an exaggeration).

And well, _courage_, may have been a slight embellishment too - seeing as Ron hadn't actually been able to look at Malfoy as he spoke; seeming instead to address his enquiry to the pumpkin decoration above his head. Even so, it had been a little disconcerting when the orange head had grinned back at him and started to nod enthusiastically.

Ron had been even more startled when Malfoy had reached up and punched the pumpkin, shattering it into pieces with a snarled, "Bugger off, shorty, he's mine!"

And then, Ron hadn't even had time to blush, as the blond had grabbed his hand and started to drag him from the room.

He did, however, find the time to squeeze in a rather spectacular all-over flush, when the entire Hall had heralded their departure with a loud chorus of cheers, whistles and catcalls; the loudest of which - '_go get him tiger!_' - in a voice that had sounded suspiciously like Harry's.

Bastard_._

* * *

The shouts and laughter had faded as they reached the entrance and stepped out into the night air. Turning to the left, they had walked down the winding path that led through the rose garden. Sounds of whispers and giggles had emerged from a variety of bushes.

All at once Ron had become conscious of the fact that Draco was still holding his hand. He'd blushed at the thought, but had made no attempt to remove it.

A soft voice, an answering laugh, low and full of secrets had floated towards them and Ron had been transported back to that first Yule Ball. He remembered how he'd ended up outside with a boy then too.

Bloody hell! Ron had never thought about it before but had people thought that he and Harry had gone outside to find a convenient bush too? Oh dear Merlin, he hoped not. Shaking his head Ron had snorted with laughter.

Malfoy had stopped walking then and looked up at him questioningly.

Ron had blushed and shrugged. "Er, just remembering the first Yule Ball and how I ended up outside with Harry."

The Slytherin's eyebrows had nearly disappeared into his hair.

"Oh, not like that!" Ron had hastened to explain, his ears now flaming.

Malfoy had looked at the other boy's horrified face and burst out laughing.

Sighing in relief, Ron had joined in.

The sound of crunching gravel ahead of them had suddenly shifted their attention elsewhere. Looking up the path, they'd both stopped laughing abruptly. Professor Snape had been walking towards them.

Oh, fucking great.

Ron, had instinctively made to remove his hand from the other boy's, assuming Malfoy would be reluctant to have his head of house catch him holding hands with the 'enemy'. But to his surprise, the Slytherin had only gripped his hand tighter and taken a step closer to his side. Something warm and fluttery had started to happen in Ron's stomach then and his mouth had curved up in a smile.

Right, he thought, bring it on, you greasy git.

As the black-robed figure drew near, both boys had moved closer still, until they stood shoulder to shoulder, hands clasped tightly.

Snape had opened his mouth...

"Good evening, boys."

Ron's mouth had dropped open in shock. Glancing to his left, he'd seen that Malfoy had been taken by surprise too.

Before either boy could respond, the Potion's master had drawn level with them and leant down to speak in Malfoy's ear.

Ah, Ron had thought, here we go; surely, here come the snide remarks about associating with riff raff.

But once again he'd been left stunned by the professor's actual words.

"Don't keep him out too long, Draco, remember he's still recovering."

Then, with a rather wicked grin at both boys, "Oh, and I believe the last bush on the left is still available."

And with a last wink at Ron, he'd walked off whistling.

_Whistling!_

For a moment, neither boy had been able to speak. Polyjuice, Imperius, bludger to the head, spiked pumpkin juice - all had ran through Ron's head in an attempt to explain the ex - Deatheater's bizarre behaviour.

Finally, they'd turned to look at each other, both still wide-eyed with shock. Malfoy had been the first to find his voice; shrugging, he'd grinned up at Ron. "So, shall we go check out that bush?"

Ron had rolled his eyes, face ablaze, but he hadn't objected as Malfoy had dragged him towards the bush in question.

* * *

Which pretty much brought them to where they were now - tongues ransacking each other's mouths, hands mapping out whole expanses of warm, unexplored territory, hormones ricocheting off bushes, walls, bodies, anything, everything, including a couple of fireflies that got too close and imploded on impact - aah, Ron sighed, fireworks...nice.

"But you must have heard."

"No, really I haven't."

While Ron's mouth and hands continued what they were doing, his brain paused to take in the words that floated through the bush. Those voices sounded worryingly familiar.

"Well, it's true. Apparently, Draco Malfoy is - a - vampire."

Ron's tongue went into shock; while Malfoy chose that moment to disentangle his own tongue and glide it along Ron's jaw and onto his neck.

"No!"

"Yes!"

The Slytherin, oblivious to everything save the taste of the boy in front of him, sucked greedily at the heated flesh beneath his mouth.

Ron whimpered.

Draco was flattered.

It probably would have ended in tears except The Boy Who Had Really Good Timing chose that moment to kick Seamus Finnigan up the arse.

"Ah, Fuck, Harry! What was that for?"

A redhead and a blond emerged from the undergrowth to see what was going on.

And there was Seamus and Harry and Dean.

Seamus was clutching his backside looking affronted. Dean looked embarrassed, Harry exasperated. Looking over at the boys in the bush, he gave an apologetic shrug, "Sorry Ron, Draco. I should have kept my eye on the Irish bastard."

Then scowling at the other two Gryffindors he said, "I'll take them inside now, and let them explain to Professor Snape how they very nearly caused him to lose his winnings in the sweepstake."

And with a final wink at Ron - what was it with blokes winking at him tonight? - Harry started to shepherd a disgruntled Seamus and Dean back towards the entrance.

Ron and Draco looked at each other for a moment.

Sweepstake?

Then, nodding sagely, Ron said, "It would explain the whistle."

* * *

Harry had just managed to shove Dean through the door when Seamus broke away from him. Looking back towards Ron and Draco he shouted, "Be careful Ron - don't let him get those nasty fangs anywhere near your pr_"

He was cut off abruptly. Hand secured tightly over the struggling boy's mouth, Harry shouted back down the path, "Er, sorry about that guys."

And with one final nod, the dark haired wizard dragged the protesting Irishman, back into the building.

"You know," Draco turned to face Ron, "I could arrange for Mr Finnigan to meet with a tragic accident, just say the word."

The other boy seemed to consider his words carefully, "Tempting, very tempting, but then who would we have to burn come Bonfire Night?"

Both boys started to laugh, but Ron's laughter soon turned into a coughing fit. Draco was immediately full of concern. "Are you okay?" he asked, one hand stroking circles on Ron's back.

Ron wiped tears from his eyes with the back of his hands. "Yeah, I'm fine." he gasped.

Draco wasn't convinced. He looked at the other boy closely. He was still too thin, having yet to regain the weight he'd lost while ill, and the blush of red on his cheeks from the recent bout of coughing, only served to emphasise the paleness of the rest of his face. There were also tell-tale creases of fatigue around his eyes.

Draco mentally kicked himself for having kept Ron outside for so long, suddenly aware of the bite of cold in the air. Shit. If he got sick again because of him, he'd...

But his thoughts were cut short by a pair of warm lips caressing his cheek.

"It's okay, Draco. I'm not made of glass." The redhead smiled and took hold of the other boy's hand.

Draco smiled back, shaking his head, "I know, it's just when you were ill, I was so scared, and_" Again he was cut off by the taller boy.

"I know. But it's okay now. I'm okay now - better than okay." And he winked at Draco (thinking it made a pleasant change).

Draco found it completely irresistible and pulled Ron into a hug. Kissing him on the ear he said, "Okay I'll stop fussing, but we should go in now. You look tired, and it has turned cold, and these dress robes are too thin, and..."

Ron kissed him quiet.

Not long after, they walked back into the Great Hall.

Gradually, the room grew silent, nudges of elbows silencing the last stragglers. Both boys seemed to notice at the same time, dragging reluctant eyes away from each other, they turned to face the waiting crowd.

Bugger.

Draco felt ill. I knew it, he thought, they hate me. I am so dead.

A loud Irish voice cut through the silence.

"And about bloody time!"

Suddenly, the room was filled with whistles and applause.

Not quite believing what he was seeing and hearing, Draco glanced nervously over at Pansy and the rest of the Slytherin crowd. And found his sight blurring as he realised that they too were _all_ clapping and cheering pretty damn loud.

A squeeze of his hand brought his attention back to the boy at his side. He turned to Ron, stupid grin all over his face.

Ron winked, and as one they turned to face their schoolmates. With great solemnity both boys bowed.

The hall erupted.

* * *

Half an hour later, Draco (or _mum_, as Ron had taken to calling him) decided it was time for the other boy to go to bed.

When Ron half-heartedly started to protest, the Slytherin launched into a lecture involving amongst other topics - '_recovery from a serious illness_', '_the need for rest,_' and '_the danger of a relapse_', that left Hermione positively speechless in admiration.

Ron said goodnight to his friends, feigning regret but actually grateful for Malfoy's insistence; he really was worn out. And he was rather looking forward to his goodnight kiss.

Once outside the Great Hall, and having ignored Seamus' parting shot - "Be gentle, Draco, he's not been well!" - Malfoy rather gallantly, held out his arm to Ron and asked, "May I walk you home?"

Ron rolled his eyes and thumped him soundly on the arm, "Bugger off, Malfoy! I'm not a girl!"

Draco frowned and rubbed his abused arm. "Yes, I had noticed that small detail, Weasel!" Then, noticing the blush that now adorned the other boy's face, he smiled and said, "Oh okay, you big, lanky git - can I walk you to your dorm and snog the face off you?"

Ron grinned and enthusiatically nodded his approval, "I think that might be acceptable."

And he took hold of Malfoy's hand and dragged him up the stairs.


	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter 8. In which rumours of The Fat Lady's new fitness regime are greatly exaggerated..._

Ron was the only person from his year to make it to breakfast the next day. Last night as he'd lain in bed, he had been determined to lie awake and relive the most memorable moments of the evening, but his traitorous eyes had slid shut almost as soon as his head had touched the pillow. Goodness knows what time the rest of his dorm had come to bed.

Ron was up early this morning determined to eat his body back to full fitness; after last night he had a feeling he was going to need all his strength to keep up with Draco. At the thought of the other boy he smiled and bit his bottom lip. He still couldn't believe how things had turned out.

Draco had walked him to the Gryffindor common room and then, as promised, had proceeded to snog the face off Ron. It had been very nice.

Ron sniggered into his cornflakes. A few startled first years glanced in his direction at that, he didn't notice, concentrating instead on remembering the rest of the previous evening.

They had continued to kiss for some time, both oblivious to the intense scrutiny of the Fat Lady, who had been frantically fanning herself with one hand, while the other had tried to loosen the frills around her neck - Oh my...

Eventually, when Ron had found it increasingly difficult to stay upright, Malfoy had taken pity on the exhausted boy in his arms. Pulling back, he'd looked up at Ron with a smile.

"So, Ron would you like to get together tomorrow?" He had asked shly.

Ron had blushed - again. Blimey, at this rate he was going to die of heat-stroke. You'd think after all that snogging he'd be past blushing.

"Er, yeah that, that would be great." He'd stammered.

Draco had smiled. "Okay, shall we say 7pm, my room?" He'd tucked a strand of red hair behind an equally red ear as he'd spoken.

Ron had smiled back, "Sounds good." Then, realising something, he'd frowned, "What do you mean _your_ room?"

Draco had shrugged, looking bemused, "I mean _my_ room. You know the place I sleep, where I keep my clothes. In fact all the usual attributes of a bedroom."

Ron had been pouting by then. "But surely you mean _dorm_."

* * *

Malfoy had smiled fondly at the clearly disgruntled redhead. "No, I mean _room_. All seventh year Slytherin's have their own room, courtesy of Salazar Slytherin himself."

Oh dear, Ron had really looked pissed off then.

"But that's not fair!"

Draco hadn't been able to resist a smirk, "Just one of the many benefits of residing in the _best_ House."

At Ron's heated scowl, he'd decided that, perhaps, the conversation had taken a turn for the worse. Damage control was clearly required.

Pulling the other boy back into his arms, Draco had nuzzled his neck briefly and then whispered into his ear, "It might not be fair, but it does mean we can be alone - whenever we like - uninterrupted..."

Ron had sighed, "I _love_ Salazar Slytherin."

Draco had grinned.

They'd stood for a moment longer, contemplating the possibilities, then with a sigh Draco had relinquished his hold on the taller boy. Leaning up he'd given the redhead a rather chaste kiss on the cheek, "Until tomorrow then." And he'd finally turned to leave. Only to find his departure halted by a hand on his wrist.

"Uh uh, not so fast Draco."

And suddenly, he'd been back in the other boys arms, and once again, warm lips had been pressed against his.

Much as Draco had wanted that moment to go on, he had been mindful of Ron's precarious health; plus his brain had already made the leap to what a well rested Ron might be capable of (well, Draco hadn't been sorted into Slytherin for nothing). With a reluctant sigh he'd stepped back.

* * *

"Now _that_ was a good night kiss!" Ron had grinned cheekily. "See you tomorrow."

And with a final smile at Draco, he'd turned to tell the Fat Lady the password.

To Ron's surprise, he'd had to repeat it loudly _three_ times before she'd responded.

Well, that was weird, she'd never had problems with her hearing before. He'd frowned at the portrait as he'd passed through into the common room - had her face always been that red? And she'd seemed rather out of breath - good grief, surely she hadn't taken up jogging?

Shuddering at the thought, Ron had headed for the stairs and bed.

* * *

Standing up from the breakfast table now, Ron head shook his head.

Yes, it had certainly been an interesting evening.

Coming out of his reverie, he looked over toward the Slytherin table. There was no sign of Draco or any of the others who'd been at the ball. He couldn't help wondering what the blond had done after leaving him. Had he gone straight to bed, or returned to the ball?

Ron wished he'd been able to stay for longer.

Stupid bloody Muggle 'flu!

Oh well, at least he had this evening to look forward to. He glanced at his watch, 10.30am.

It was going to be one very long day.

* * *

When Ron reached the common room, there was still no sign of any of his friends.

He slumped down into his favourite armchair next to the fire. There were a few of the smaller kids around gossiping in groups, probably discussing the Ball. Not a bad idea - and closing his eyes, he settled comfortably into the chair and prepared to relive some of the more eventful parts of the previous evening.

He must have dozed off, as the next thing he was aware of was the sound of giggles and whispers, followed by a louder, more familiar voice, "I think Ron may have stolen your fan club, Harry." That was Hermione.

"He's welcome to it," Harry retorted.

Opening his eyes Ron jumped back in fright.

There was a large group of kids clamouring around his chair, two second year girls practically sitting in Ron's lap. He sat up quickly, bewildered eyes scanning the room for the two friends he had heard moments before. The crowd around him scattered, splintering into giggling, blushing groups.

Harry and Hermione were standing behind his chair grinning.

They headed for the couch, Harry hooking a thumb over his shoulder in dismissal at the boy who was still sitting there staring awestruck at Ron. But the youngster was so mesmerised by the redhead that he totally failed to see the older boy frowning at him.

Hermione snickered, earning her a deep scowl from Ron, who was finding the whole situation rather disconcerting; reaching over she tapped the boy gently on the head, "Scram junior!" And the little tyke scurried off red faced and wide-eyed.

Once they had settled on the sofa, Harry tried to suppress a smile as he shook his head at his friend and declared, "Really, Ron, leave you alone for one morning and you're already corrupting the innocent!"

The other boy looked appalled and opened his mouth to protest but Hermione came to his defence; poking the bespectacled wizard in the chest she said, "Leave him alone you. It's not his fault."

Ron smiled gratefully at her, "Thanks, Hermione."

The bushy-haired girl nodded, "You're welcome Ron. Harry's just jealous because you've become such a stud muffin."

"What?" Ron nearly fell off the chair; his face was flaming and his eyes seemed in danger of falling out of his head.

"Oh, come on, Ron. Don't tell me you haven't noticed?" As always Seamus' timing was impeccable.

Ron groaned and put his head in his hands; he wasn't sure he could deal with the Irishman right now.

Turning their heads to the stairs, the three friends watched as Seamus walked lazily down towards them. He flopped onto the arm of Ron's chair and waved his hand around the room.

"Take a look around Ronnie-boy – you're a star."

Ron shook his head, yep definitely not up to dealing with Mr Finnigan today. Though he did have a point. As much as Ron would have liked to deny the truth of Seamus' words, scanning the room, there did seem to be more than a hint of adoration in the air, and for once it didn't appear to be aimed at Harry.

Bloody hell, when did that happen?

Seamus grinned, then winked over at Harry and Hermione, clearly enjoying the discomfort of his friend. Leaning down he kissed the distressed boy on the top of his head and then started to card his fingers through the red hair.

Noting the reaction of the watching crowd, Seamus shook his head solemnly at the envious faces, "Sorry ladies, but you're just not his type." Then, spotting the boy from the sofa, he pointed and said, "Now _you_, you might be in with a chance." The boy's eyes lit up at that and the look on his face passed swiftly from devastated to hopeful.

Ron had been spluttering quietly to himself up to this point, but he suddenly seemed to come to his senses and stood up abruptly, dislodging the Irish boy as he did so.

"Ow! Careful Ron, my arse is still sore from Harry's assault last night."

There were a few startled gasps at that, and Hermione had to stuff her fist into her mouth to control her own rising hysteria.

Harry had risen to his feet and was now as red-faced as Ron. "I - I - kicked him!" He declared to the room at large. "Up the arse!" He clarified.

Seamus clutched his hand to his heart and adopted a wounded expression, "Oh Harry, how could you? Seduced and abandoned!" And he slumped dramatically back to the floor.

Hermione looked from the murderous look on Harry's face, to the homicidal look on Ron's, and decided it was probably time for a nice long walk. Grabbing both her friends by the arm she said, "Come on you two, time for some fresh air."

She led them from the room, sparing a moment to send a quick disapproving glance over to where Seamus still reclined on the floor waggling his eyebrows and grinning.

Wandering down to the lake, the three friends were soon sitting on the large rocks that stood on the edge of the water.

"You know, I might just have to take Draco up on his offer."

Harry and Hermione turned curious eyes to Ron. "Oh." They said simultaneously, eyebrows raised.

"Do I really want to hear this?" Harry added with a smirk.

Ron shook his head grinning at his friends. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Potter. No, he offered to 'dispose' of Seamus."

Hermione laughed, while Harry looked appalled and said, "And you _declined!_"

Ron shrugged, "I was in a good mood – even Seamus couldn't spoil it!"

"Oh," Hermione said slyly. "And what exactly had Mr Malfoy done to make you feel so magnanimous?" And she waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Shaking his head sadly, Ron looked over at her and said, "You know, Hermione, I think Seamus may be having a bad influence on you."

* * *

For awhile, they just sat and looked out across the water, each lost in their own thoughts. It was Ron who broke the silence; looking suddenly embarrassed he asked. "Er, so why do you think those kids were staring at me earlier." He continued to look into the distance, avoiding their eyes.

Hermione exchanged a grin with Harry. "They _like_ you Ron." She sighed at the confused look on her friend's face, he could be so naïve sometimes. "You know, as in have a massive great big crush on."

Poor Ron looked positively appalled. "But why? They never used to - to - _like_ me."

His two friends shook their heads at each other.

Harry answered him this time, "Actually, mate, you've been getting quite a bit of attention since you took up Quidditch in fifth year – you're just too dense to notice."

"Oi!" The redhead stood up in indignation.

Hermione laughed, "Oh, calm down, Ron. Harry's right – you have gained a lot of admirers over the last couple of years – not just a certain blond Slytherin." She smiled at Ron's blush. "And they've grown considerably in numbers during the last few weeks."

The poor boy looked even more perplexed by that. "But I don't understand. Why? What's happened in the last few weeks?"

"Well, think about it – your life has started to resemble a bit of a romance novel of late."

Ron turned wide eyes to Harry who just shrugged in reply as if he was equally at a loss as to what Hermione was going on about.

Seeing their shared looks of confusion Hermione shook her head and mumbled, "Boys."

Looking back at Ron, she tried to explain.

* * *

Draco didn't wake up until well after noon.

Although he hadn't returned to the Ball after leaving Weasley the night before, he hadn't gone straight to bed either. He'd taken a walk down to the lake and sat on the bank, staring out across the dark water, thinking about everything that had happened in the past couple of weeks. It had been almost dawn when he'd finally stumbled into bed, exhausted but happy.

Once showered and dressed, he settled himself into the chair next to his bed and opened the book he was currently reading, determined to spend the rest of the day right there, undisturbed.

Three lines in, and there was a cursory knock at the door before Pansy strode in and flopped down onto his bed.

Draco hadn't looked up from his book. "Please do come in, Pansy," he said before continuing in a voice that sounded scarily like Snape's. "Oh look – you already have."

"Oh, can it, Draco, you know the Snape tone doesn't work on me." She rested her head on one hand and stared at the boy in the chair. "I'm very disappointed in you, you know. You've really let me down rather badly."

Draco finally looked up from his book, eyes narrowed. That damn knot that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in his stomach lately was making its presence firmly felt again.

Shit. What if the Slytherins had only pretended to approve last night?

Pansy was examining her nails now, seemingly oblivious to the concern her words had stirred in her friend.

"I was so sure that you would have shagged Weasley well before he left the Infirmary. In fact, I put rather a lot of money on it."

Looking up into relieved grey eyes, she smirked. "You're going to have to sub me for the rest of the term – I blew my whole allowance on you nailing him while he was still too weak to run away!"

Draco threw his book at her head.

* * *

Pansy smirked as she made her way over to the Slytherin table; she couldn't help but notice the way Weasley had nearly given himself whiplash turning to see who had walked into the hall.

Well, he was going to be disappointed, Draco had refused point blank to accompany her to lunch. Seems the poor boy was having an attack of pre-date jitters. It was really rather endearing to see the usually cocky little git so unsure of himself. Merlin knows she never thought she'd ever say it, but Weasley might actually be good for Draco - would certainly keep him guessing, if nothing else.

Looking back over to the Gryffindor table she couldn't resist a little wave at the redhead who immediately blushed and looked away.

In fact, this whole situation might be a lot of fun - if Draco survived long enough to actually make it to the date. She'd left him pacing his room trying to convince himself that the previous evening hadn't all been an elaborate Gryffindor plan to humiliate him - a plan that would culminate this evening with Weasley's complete failure to show up while the entire school stood outside Draco's door laughing.

She sometimes suspected that Draco might have an over-developed persecution complex. He had been adamant that he wasn't going to leave his room, afraid to run into Ron and discover the awful truth. He was so sure that, even if the boy's affections had been genuine the previous evening, then Weasley had almost certainly woken up this morning with cold feet, not to mention feelings of utter horror at the thought of an actual 'date' with Draco; was probably even as they spoke, desperately trying to think of a way to get out of it. No, all in all, Draco had declared, it was best if he hid in his room to await his impending doom.

Pansy shook her head - Draco could be such a drama queen.

* * *

Ron couldn't hide his disappointment at Draco's non appearance at lunch. He'd really been looking forward to seeing Draco again, even if his stomach had fluttered nervously at the thought. And it wasn't just disappointment that he was feeling; Ron was beginning to suspect that the Slytherin was avoiding him.

What if Draco had changed his mind?

Bugger, what if he was hiding from Ron?

What if it had it all been a joke?

Ron suddenly felt sick, standing up, he left his plate untouched, and with a quick goodbye to his friends walked morosely back to his dorm. 

* * *

Harry and Hermione exchanged a worried look as they watched their friend walk away. Ron had been so happy earlier, and now he looked like he'd just watched his entire chocolate frog card collection go up in flames.

Noting Draco's absence from the Slytherin table, Hermione was pretty sure she could guess what was going through Ron's mind - it didn't take much to dent Ron's confidence at the best of times, and she knew how much this meant to him.

She was almost certain, that Draco's intentions were genuine and that he had no plans to hurt Ron, but he was also a Slytherin, so it would do no harm to make sure. And she pitied the blond if it did turn out that he was toying with her friend; she had a strong feeling that, if that were the case, then, there would be a long line of people queuing up to point out the error of his ways to Draco.

Looking over at the Slytherin table, she caught Pansy's eye and inclined her head slightly toward the door. The other girl nodded and made her way to the exit. They met in the entrance hall and by mute agreement walked into the gardens.

"So."

"So."

Hermione took a deep breath. "Ron thinks Draco's avoiding him 'cos he's regretting last night, and now he's hoping that Ron will just take the hint and not turn up later."

Pansy nodded. "And Draco is hiding in his room 'cos he thinks last night was a sinister plot to humiliate him, and he's convinced that not only will Weasley not turn up later, but the rest of the school will, just so they can laugh at him."

Both girls rolled their eyes.

"Well, it will certainly be an interesting date."

Pansy couldn't help but agree with Hermione's assessment. "And how does Weasley really feel about Draco?" She asked, already suspecting she knew the answer but just wanting to make sure; she'd murder the ginger git if he hurt her friend.

"Mad about the blond prat. Draco?"

"Completely loopy for the ginger pillock!"

They rolled their eyes and shook their heads again.

_Boys._

* * *

Ron stood in front of the imposing walnut door shuffling from foot to foot.

Calm down, calm down. It's just a date. Fuck! A date. With Draco Malfoy!

He suddenly had a fit of the giggles. Shit, what was he doing here? And he turned and walked quickly back to the stairs. He was about half-way down them when he suddenly changed his mind, and turning abruptly he marched back up, mumbling to himself the entire time.

"Deep breaths. It'll be fine. Stop being such an idiot. Just walk up and knock on the bloody door."

And then he was at the door again. But, faced once again with that unforgiving façade, Ron's confidence shrivelled up and died.

This time, he got as far as the top step, before common sense kicked in and turned him round again (backed up heavily by the fear of having to confront Hermione and Ginny if he left now).

Ron brushed a hand through his hair in frustration, halting suddenly when he remembered the inordinate amount of time Ginny had spent preening it. Bugger. He carefully removed his hand, and patted the hair back into place; she'd kill him if he messed it up. Right, clearly he needed to get a grip.

Okay, this was it.

His hand was poised and Ron was reaching it slowly forward to knock on the door - and somehow he was back at the stairs. _Fuck_. Again.

He turned, and took two steps toward Malfoy's door, stopped, turned back, took one step in the direction of the stairs, then stopped. He was just about to turn again, when a loud voice boomed out of the darkness.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Weasley! I can't take this anymore!"

And two large shapes, suddenly loomed out of the shadows behind Ron. He was seized on each side, lifted off his feet and propelled along the corridor at speed. Then, just as abruptly, he was put down in front of Malfoy's door; by which time Ron had recognised his assailants as Crabbe and Goyle. Before he could open his mouth to protest, Goyle had reached out one of his large hands and had rapped loudly on the wood.

Oh, fuck.

The door was opening. Ron swallowed nervously, and braced for impact.

* * *

Pansy and Hermione had agreed not to talk to either boy, other than to make sure that they went through with the date.

This task proved a lot easier for Pansy. Draco was still refusing to leave his room, so, as long as he was in there when Weasley turned up, then her part of the bargain was met.

She wasn't quite so sure that Hermione would be able to come through with her own part of the deal, however, and told the Gryffindor girl as much. That was when Hermione had revealed her secret weapon - Ginny Weasley. And all at once Pansy had known the other boy would be there; if anyone could _persuade_ the ginger git, then it was his small, but surprisingly violent, sister. Pansy had almost wished she could be there to witness the assault - er, encounter.

* * *

It had taken Ginny approximately fifteen minutes of intense conversation with her brother to convince him of his deep burning desire to go visit Draco.

She had then, picked out his clothes, spent half an hour messing with his hair until - in his opinion - it looked exactly the same as when she had started, and had finally thrust his chess set into Ron's hands, before declaring he was ready.

Ron had looked down at the box in his hands, "Er, why...?"

Ginny had grinned and said, "Really, Ron, at least _try_ to pretend you're not just going there for a shag."

Ron had spluttered, blushed and spluttered again, but he'd been unable to make any more coherent sounds before she had pushed him out the portrait hole with one last instruction for the evening. "Don't you dare come back before midnight - actually between 12.30-12.45 would be ideal - but I'll leave that to your discretion."

Ron had shaken his head sadly. He couldn't believe they were now taking bets on how long his date would last. Forget Draco, he'd murder Seamus himself!

Well, he thought, whoever picked the closest to 7.10pm will be winning this one. He reckoned that's pretty much how long it would take him to walk to Malfoy's door, be rejected and walk back again.

Nice.

* * *

Malfoy raised his eyebrows at the sight of his two friends flanking his date. Ron looked like he was about to face Voldemort in hand to hand combat. Well, this was certainly shaping up to be an interesting evening.

* * *

Ron felt ill; Draco was about to be told that he had had to be carried forcibly to his door, as he had already tried to run away - several times. This could not be good. He prepared to duck.

A nudge to his shoulder interrupted his thoughts. Looking to his left he was surprised to find Goyle nodding at him - encouragingly. Well, that was unexpected.

Goyle nudged him again, this time nodding his head in Draco's direction. Ron just looked blankly back. Then it suddenly hit him. Shit, he needed to say something.

"Er, hi." Fuck, did that squeak really just come from him?

Goyle shook his head in disgust. "Draco, we found Weasley here, wandering around lost and helped him to find your door."

* * *

By now, Draco had weathered the wave of relief that had swept over him when he'd opened his door to find Weasley there. All his previous doubts and fears had been washed away on that wave, to be replaced by a warm glow of contentment, tinged with amusement at the redhead's obvious embarrassment. Poor Weasley, no wonder he looked so shell-shocked; Draco could well imagine the sort of 'help' his heavy-handed, if well meaning, friends had afforded him.

"Thank you, Greg, Vincent. I think I can take him from here." And Draco smiled up at Ron, who blushed and looked at his feet.

As the two large Slytherins turned to walk away, Goyle paused to give Ron one last scathing look, then glancing back at his friend said, "Good luck, Draco - you'll need it." And he walked away, shaking his head sadly.

* * *

Ron continued to look at his feet, in the desperate hope, that if he watched them closely enough then they wouldn't be tempted to turn tail and run again.

Malfoy smiled at him "Hi," he said warmly.

Ron finally looked up, trusting his feet to do the honourable thing.

"Er-" He stammered, but got no further.

"Oh, come here!" And suddenly Ron was being pulled forward, only stopping when two soft lips met his.

He was just relaxing into the kiss, when Malfoy released him and stepped back. Opening his eyes, he looked into Draco's grinning face.

"I thought we should get the kiss out the way. That way you might be able to relax enough to unclench and not break something that we might have a use for later."

Ron grinned back, "Good thinking."

* * *

They actually managed to get through _two_ whole games of chess, before the board was swept roughly out of the way...

Malfoy's mouth was on his neck, licking at first, then sucking gently.

Ron started to snigger.

Pulling back Malfoy looked up at the other boy. "Er, should I be offended, Weasel?" He raised an eyebrow in mild enquiry.

Ron took a deep breath, trying to reign in his laughter. The last thing he wanted to do now was piss the other boy off; not when things were starting to get interesting. He looked down at the Slytherin and smiled. "Sorry, Draco. It's just-," and he giggled again. "I couldn't help thinking of Seamus' words from last night" He reached over to run his fingers gently through the blond's hair.

Malfoy turned his head to kiss Ron's wrist. "So, Weasley, you think I'm a vampire, do you?" And he bared his teeth for effect, before biting gently at the boy's exposed arm.

Ron grinned. "Well you are very pale..."

The Slytherin leapt suddenly, pushing Ron onto his back and straddling his waist. Holding the other boy's hands on either side of his head, Malfoy leant down and whispered into his ear. "But then, so are you."

Ron gulped and looked up into his eyes. "I've - I've not been well." He stammered.

Malfoy sniggered. "Oh dear, does that mean you don't have the strength to fight me off?"

Ron made no attempt to move. Then slowly, deliberately, eyes not leaving Malfoy's, he nodded his head.

Pale hands crept downwards and started to unbutton his shirt.

* * *

Meanwhile, back in the Gryffindor common room...

"Bad luck, Harry." Seamus sounded anything but sorry. Shit-eating grin in place he turned to Dean. "So that leaves just me and Snape, right?"

Dean nodded, "Yep. If Ron gets back in the next half hour, you win. After that, then Snape wins - again."

"Hey, you don't think he'd lock Ron in Malfoy's room or anything do you?" The Irishman suddenly sounded less sure of himself.

Hermione shared a look with Ginny. "Trust me, Seamus, he won't have to lock Ron in!"

The five blokes there made a variety of noises designed to indicate '_eew_', while four of the five girls shared wistful sighs (Ginny abstained - well it was her brother).

* * *

Draco slipped the last button through the hole. Pausing, he sat up and took a moment to look down at the boy laid out before him. Then he pulled back the shirt. Leaning forward, he kissed the collarbone that jutted out in obvious invitation. He couldn't believe how warm the pale flesh felt under his lips.

And Draco couldn't believe he was finally doing this. It was as if all his dreams where here, suddenly real, under his fingertips.

* * *

Ron sighed as hands trailed down his sides, pausing at his waist. Suddenly his breath hitched and he wasn't quite so sure. He pushed the other boy back, gently.

Eyes connected, waiting for an answer. Then a kiss and a touch, hands were at his throat and finally in a whisper.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"Merlin, no."

Then, Malfoy was slowly undoing his own shirt, while Ron watched, unable to tear his eyes away.

The cloth had barely fallen from Malfoy's shoulders and he was leaning down again, pressing their bare chests together. Ron hissed at the feel of the warm skin against his own. Suddenly needing more of the boy in his arms, he pulled him closer.

"Draco I want - I need -" Ron didn't know how to continue - didn't know what it was he wanted or needed. Luckily, the other boy did.

Warm lips trailed down Ron's chest. A tongue reached out to lick.

Oh, Merlin. Ron's brain started to melt out of his ears.

The sound of a zip - _his_ zip, shocked him back to his senses.

His head shot up, and Ron found himself looking down into questioning grey eyes. Gulping, Ron nodded slowly. Lowering his head back down, he silently commended his spirit to the gods, and closed his eyes.

Bloody hell.

* * *

"I don't fucking believe it!" Seamus was not happy. "Snape wins again! Bastard!"

Those that were still awake, shared sleepy grins - there was nothing quite like a thwarted Seamus.

"What time is it anyway?" Harry asked, yawning loudly.

Hermione squinted at her watch, "5.25am."

"Bloody hell!"

"Well, you know what Ron's like."

All eyes shifted to Neville - eyes wide with shock and nervous trepidation at what the quiet boy's next words would be.

"He always forgets the time when he's playing chess."

Disbelieving looks were exchanged amongst smiles and bemused shakes of the head as the chubby boy stood and headed for the stairs. Poor Neville, he could be so naïve.

Just before he disappeared from sight, Neville paused on the stairs, and shouted back down.

"And they're probably shagging like bunnies!"

Then he continued on his way.

_End_


End file.
